


Blackout

by adelheid



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman Begins (2005), Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: F/M, Power Play, twisted relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-30 07:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 68,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelheid/pseuds/adelheid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn't a good day for Penny to end up trapped in an elevator with a stranger. Especially since that stranger was the Joker. Set before The Dark Knight. Joker/OC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"And so, we leave today the secure walls of an institution that has, for the most part, only required a firm grasp of theory and we leap into the great unknown of ...corporate strategic planning."

Penny groaned and slapped the sheet of paper on the desk.

"I'm the worst," she mumbled and fell back in her chair. "This speech is the worst."

She had twenty minutes left before she could pack her things and go. She'd asked the head of department if she could leave early. The middle-aged woman had frowned, displeased.

"What's this about?"

"My graduation, actually."

She was graduating business school and although she'd never told anyone at the office, she was valedictorian. That probably meant little to anyone not currently attending Gotham University, but it had been her mother's dream that her daughter follow in her footsteps, so Penny really didn't want to botch up her valedictorian speech.

Too late.

She scribbled some lines with her pen until they were almost illegible. The ceremony was at five. That left her with two hours to get ready. Well, one hour and a half. She'd have a long way to go to reach her apartment building which was across town.

"Well, hello there, Mrs. Robinson. Heard you were graduating."

Penny looked up in mild confusion. Ryan was standing at the entrance to her cubicle, annoying smirk plastered on his face.

"Anne Bancroft was the mother, not the graduate," she replied, rolling her eyes. Ryan had a penchant for misquoting movies. And everything else, in general.

"I knew that," Ryan said, grinning widely. "Still holds up."

Penny knew where this was headed. He'd make some dumb save by arguing that they were both hot.

Before he had the chance, she got up and straightened the folds of her dress in a gesture that clearly indicated she was about to leave.

"I gotta go. I'll be late otherwise."

Might as well skip those twenty minutes, after all.

"Wow, you look fancy."

"Yeah, I er, bought a dress for the occasion."

She felt embarrassed to admit she liked to dress up for these events. She was wearing a green number, very smart and elegant, but decent and professional. A mixture between a summer dress and an office outfit.

"We have to celebrate tomorrow, or tonight, if you want. Brent's got this place in the suburbs, it's got a nice backyard…"

"That's really cool, Ryan, but the investors are coming in tomorrow, remember?"

Ryan slapped his forehead comically.

"Right, right. Slipped my mind. But who cares? This is a special occasion."

Penny shook her head. "No, it's not. The only thing to get excited about is that I'll stop being a temp around here."

Ryan walked her to the elevators, while she fumbled with the clasp on her messenger bag.

"So, you know, call me if you change your mind about the hang out. Actually, call me even if you don't. I want details."

He winked at her suggestively. Penny smiled diplomatically.

"Will do."

She liked Ryan. He was _okay_. Kind of a joker, though. She didn't know if that was an age thing. He was older than her, but he acted like a kid.

He liked to flirt with her sometimes, but nothing too serious. She hadn't really connected with anyone at the office. They saw her as that college kid who'd been hired because she liked to do the work no one else did. They didn't respect her for it.

But now, maybe things would change. Maybe she could legitimately interview for a real position. She'd been working with the firm for two years. That had to count for something.

The elevator went down at snail-pace. She shook her legs to try to get rid of the nervousness.

The speech would be fine, she told herself. No one listened to those things, anyway.

When the doors opened, she practically stormed out, hair coming out of her braid. She untangled it as she went through the double doors and waved goodbye at the doorman.

Penny shook her hair free and looked in both directions for a cab.

Yes, it would cost her a lot more than a bus ride, but this was her graduation. She had to prepare and she had to be on time.

* * *

The Bloomherst Buildings Complex used to be, if not the most prestigious, at least the best looking living area in the neighborhood. Now, it seemed rundown and old-fashioned thanks to the new modern buildings surrounding it. Only half-senile elderly people or nutjobs lived there now. And someone who couldn't afford rent, like her.

The cab driver gave the place one glance and she could already tell he wanted to get out of there. It wasn't that it looked unsafe or unsanitary. Crime and violence on the block were sparse. This wasn't a really bad neighborhood. Not unless you were looking for trouble.

No, Bloomherst made you want to leave because it looked fucking depressing. As if it could suck all the happiness out of you once you went inside.

It wasn't entirely untrue. Whenever she had to return to her little apartment, she always felt like she was going back underwater, after a day on the shore. But it was home, for now. And you grow fond of home, no matter where that might be.

 _Okay, you've got an hour to rewrite that stupid speech, maybe take a shower and iron press your dress again …oh, and eat some leftover Chinese before you leave if it's still any good,_ she told herself as she stepped inside the building.

It was always dark and damp around afternoon. Dust moats floated everywhere, making her wheeze. The place looked deserted. It was the hour when most of the elderly people living there took naps.

She stopped in front of the elevator. The carved wooden frames used to shine elegantly and give off an impression of wealth. Not anymore. It was like the entire place was the abandoned Titanic ship. It had been glorious, once, but those days were over.

Someone was coming down. The doors opened.

If there was one speck of happiness in the entire building, though, it had to be ...

"Mrs. Levenstein," Penny greeted cheerfully. "How are you today?"

"Oh, Penelope, darling, is that you?" the elderly woman asked, setting her glasses on the tip of her nose. "You look different today."

Penny beamed. She liked old Mrs. Levenstein. She would always call her up when she happened to bake a new batch of cookies for her nephews. They rarely visited, but she liked to be prepared, just in case they did. Penny felt sorry for her and jealous of her family. She could have used a grandmother like that. People who had them didn't know how to appreciate them.

"Are you going on a date with a young man?" Mrs. Levenstein asked, winking.

Penny laughed. "I wish. It's my graduation day actually."

Mrs. Levenstein's eyes lit up.

"Oh, sweetheart! That's wonderful! I'm going to make you something really special tonight, as celebration."

Penny smiled. She preferred this to Brent's backyard.

"Thank you, but you shouldn't trouble yourself –"

"Trouble myself?! Darling, you speak nonsense as usual," she replied in her nasal voice Penny found so endearing.

The door to the building swung open and a sliver of light was cast on the old granite floor.

"I'll be only too happy. You know, Eli has to retake the third grade. My nephews don't seem destined for academic achievement. So, at least I have you to be proud of. You're still top of your class, aren't you?"

Penny blushed slightly.

"Something like that."

"Naturally. I wouldn't expect anything less with all the work you put in. Too much work, I'd warrant. And all work and no play," Mrs. Levenstein said, mischievously. "You know what they say about that, don't you?"

Someone stopped behind them. A young man, by the looks of it. He was waiting to get into the elevator.

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, I know, Mrs. Levenstein."

The man raised his head slightly. Penny noticed him from her peripheral vision. He seemed to be in his early thirties. It was strange to see someone younger than fifty in the building, besides her.

"That's right. And you'd better start playing soon, or you'll end up like me," Mrs. Levenstein joked, shaking her shoulders in laughter.

"Well, I'd better leave you to it. Wouldn't want you to be late! And remember, tonight –"

But she stopped short and cursed under her breath.

"Oh, drat. I forgot. My son is taking me out for dinner tonight. It's his birthday, you see. Oh, that's a shame, I really wanted to spend some time with you-"

Penny shook her head.

"Please, don't worry on my account. It's more important to spend time with your family."

She couldn't help the small bitterness that found its way in her voice. Everyone else had a family.

"Oh, you practically _are_ family, dear. Listen, I'll call you tomorrow and we'll have a grand time together, all right?"

Penny gladly agreed and Mrs. Levenstein swooped in for a hug. Meanwhile, the man standing behind them had already stepped into the elevator.

"Tell him happy birthday from me!" Penny said at the last minute.

Mrs. Levenstein waved and mouthed "Of course!" as she left the building.

The doors to the elevator were about to close, but the man put a hand between them and parted them easily.

Penny heaved a sigh.

"Thank you. Sorry about that," she said, although it wasn't clear what she was apologizing for.

She stepped inside and stood next to him while the doors were closed shut with a small chink.

He cleared his throat, fingers hovering over the buttons.

"Oh, right, sorry, I'm on the seventh."

The man nodded. He pressed the seventh and then the eighth button.

"Oh, convenient," she mumbled, looking down at her feet.

The elevator started its slow ascend.

Now that Mrs. Levenstein wasn't taking up her attention, she could finally look at the stranger properly.

He looked very…un-Bloomhersty.

He wore black jeans, a black T-Shirt and a very shabby-looking beige shirt over that. His hair was odd too. Dirty blond and slightly curled, but entirely disheveled, like he'd slept in a barn.

The weirdest thing, though, had to be his face.

Penny didn't get a good look at it since she was standing by his side, but from his profile she noticed that, what could have been a moderately handsome face was marred by an ugly scar. She couldn't see much of it, but it seemed to cover most of his mouth and cheeks.

His small, black eyes suddenly turned on her. Their expression was stark.

She quickly looked down, embarrassed.

He'd caught her looking. He must've been offended she was staring at his scar. She was mortified, to say the least.

She wondered, though, when he'd moved in. She didn't know about any new tenets and Mrs. Levenstein would usually tell her everything.

Unless he was visiting someone. That seemed unlikely, considering it was Bloomherst.

Maybe he was someone's son or nephew.

As she was staring at the floor tiles, she noticed the heavy bag he was carrying. It was stained in several places with paint; blue, red, green, violent…

Was he a painter?

She didn't have time to wonder any further though, because the elevator was now on the sixth floor.

_Just one more._

The noise came from above. Metal rustling against metal. Then, a scrap of hooks, then silence. The elevator started slowing down. She groaned inwardly. It sometimes did that. She'd have to walk up the stairs to the seventh floor, _again_.

Penny was about to turn to the stranger and tell him he'd better get off with her on the seventh floor, when suddenly, she was hauled into his arms by a tiny earthquake.

Except, it wasn't an earthquake.

The elevator had dropped somewhere between the sixth and the fifth floor and had literally floored them in the process.

The lights went off completely and a small, blue neon light blinked shyly above their heads.

In the first moments, Penny had no idea what had happened. She felt as if someone had hit her on the head and she was just coming to.

But the warm body underneath her felt real.

She realized she had collapsed on him. Her cheeks burned with renewed shame.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry…"

This was the third time she was apologizing. It was beginning to sound like a habit.

She felt his large hands on her waist and the scratchy fabric of his shirt on her neck.

Penny scrambled out of his awkward embrace with more or less dignity, while trying to find the strength to get back on her feet.

Her green dress was probably ruined. Or at very least, unwearable to her graduation.

The young man didn't seem to mind that she had accidentally accosted him. He got up without much trouble. His movements were graceful and feline-like.

She looked up at him. She was still on her knees. His scar was both more and less visible. In the soft blue light its shadow looked like a crater carved into his skin.

He suddenly extended his hand towards her.

Penny didn't hesitate. She took it and he helped her up easily. He had a strong grip from what she could tell.

"Thanks. I lost my balance."

"We all do, sometimes," he spoke, for the first time. His voice was smooth, but hoarse, like he had a toothpick stuck in his throat. He sounded much older than he looked.

"Not your fault anyway. Damn elevator," he added, pointing at the shut doors.

"Yeah, it tends to do that. Old thing. I'm sure it will start up again, though. Blackouts here don't last more than ten minutes or so."

"Let's hope it's just a blackout, then," he said, looking up at the neon light.

He pressed the emergency button twice, for good measure.

Penny brushed her skimmed knees and tried to make sense of the state of her dress. It was salvageable.

She took out her cell phone.

"Oh, crap. No reception. That doesn't usually happen."

The man didn't take out his cell phone, if he had one. He leant against the mirror-wall, hands in his pocket, head bent forward.

"Guess we'll have to wait it out."

He seemed completely calm, as if he knew the building better than she did.

Penny kept fiddling with her phone. "I'm gonna try and send a text."

Five minutes passed in silence while she crunched the buttons on her phone and he walked around the elevator, staring at the walls or at himself in the mirrors.

"I sent four texts. Hope someone gets them. Calls don't seem to work. Have you tried yours?"

"Don't have it on me, unfortunately," he replied. He didn't sound upset about it. Merely peeved, as if it was a small inconvenience.

Penny pressed the emergency button.

"I already did that," he informed her.

"Doesn't hurt to try again."

The man shrugged his shoulders. He was staring at his reflection.

Penny chanced a look in his direction. She understood why he was staring. The soft blue light made him look like a strange ethereal being. She approached the mirror. Her usually vibrant red hair looked almost black now.

"Well, that's a new look," she commented.

The man cast her a sidelong glance.

"I prefer the red."

She turned to him, slightly put off. This stranger barely knew her and he was making comments about her appearance. As if they were on a first-name basis.

Penny shook her head. _You're being weird. He just made a joke._ _You started it, anyways._

"How much longer do you think it will be?" he rasped, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Um, not much longer, I think. It's never gone this long before."

She wondered if one of the kids had played with the elevator board and now they were stuck. No, kids rarely came here. But it was a possibility.

"I'll try calling again."

"Didn't you say it doesn't work?"

"Well, I have to keep trying," she replied, bristling. She was beginning to feel the tension one feels when one is confined to a small place. Her temper usually got the better of her in such situations.

It was better than panic, though.

The man gave her a cursory look as she paced the small room, phone glued to her ear.

"Definitely prefer the red," he muttered to himself. His tongue darted out, licking his scar.


	2. Chapter 2

The lights hadn't come back on even after Penny's estimated ten minutes. And then another ten minutes. And then another ten.

Time was ticking by slowly. The soft blue light was starting to give her a headache. Trickles of sweat were falling down her spine and she felt every last drop of heat and the way her dress clung to her skin. It was like being in a sauna.

"...hope you get this message," she droned out, shutting her phone with a click. Her voice was getting hoarse. She had already sent out ten voice messages in the hopes that one of them would make it through and get her out of there.

Her current "roomie" was keeping it together far better. He was still calmly watching her. She didn't notice his eyes hadn't left her figure.

"Maybe it's, uh, time to give it a break," he said, nodding towards the phone.

Penny looked up from the blue screen.

"I mean…you're wasting battery."

"Well, what else am I gonna use it for?" she asked, a bit too forcefully.

"The neon up there? It's a backup light. Won't hold out forever, not in this building. So it's not a bad idea to have another light source around."

Penny had to admit it wasn't entirely illogical.

"I'm hoping by the time that happens, we're already out of here."

The man smiled and the skin around his scar darkened.

"That's the spirit."

Penny wiped the sweaty screen phone with the hem of her dress and dropped it in her purse.

"I guess the GPS will tip the firm I'm not dead, just stuck," she muttered sardonically, leaning her shoulder against the wall.

"Firm?"

Penny hadn't realized she'd said it loud enough for him to hear. Privacy was going to be an issue in this small place.

"…where I work," she said, cautiously.

"So, you're an important business lady, huh?" he teased. She was about to contradict him, when he raised his finger and continued.

"No, don't think so. An important business lady wouldn't live in this shit hole. She'd also be older. No, I'm gonna go with…assistant or coffee girl."

Penny looked downright scandalized.

"I'm no coffee girl! I'm a temp. Temps basically do most of the hard work and handle all the small accounts. I just get paid less." I also require a supervisor, she should have added, but she chose to omit this detail.

Wait, why did I tell him anything to begin with?

The man licked his lips and she could have sworn she saw his tongue darting out.

"I see. I've offended you."

"Well, there's a big difference between me and a coffee girl," she muttered angrily. She'd never willingly admit she sometimes picked up coffee for the head of department.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to put you on the spot. I make jokes. They're not, uh, very good, are they? It's fine. I'm just a bit under the weather. Work gets to me."

Penny sized him up in one look, trying to figure out what kind of guy he was. Was he someone she'd usually reject at a bar? Was he one of those guys with a lot of stupid lines?

"Are you a stand-up?"

The man stared at her for a few moments, as if trying to process the information. Then a smile curled his lips into a grin.

"Not with this crowd."

Penny rolled her eyes. It wasn't her fault he wasn't funny.

"But since you asked, I'm curious. Try and guess."

Penny didn't want to play games right now. In fact, she wasn't a big fan of games in general. But she had time to spare, didn't she?

Her eyes darted almost unconsciously to the bag at his feet, the one stained with several shades.

"Are you an artist?"

His eyes widened considerably. He followed her gaze and this time his smile was genuine.

"Why, I don't think I've ever heard a better description. You found the perfect word for my field of work."

Penny had no idea whether he was joking or being honest. But he seemed pleased. So she must have said something right.

If he was an artist, it would explain his disdain for the business world. She didn't really care for art, not as much as she'd have liked to admit. She enjoyed a book and movie just like any person, but she'd never really gone into the reasons why.

"So, temp, huh? But you're aiming for the big office for sure," he said, confident that he was right.

Penny folded her arms. "Not exactly. I mean, I want to get a stable position, that's all."

The man tilted his head, almost mocking her.

"Everyone says that. Everyone says they only want a slice. But they're all hoping they get the big fat cake, aren't they?"

Penny squared her shoulders. She felt like she was being accused of something she hadn't done.

"The big fat cake can give you diabetes," she replied evenly.

The man snorted. "That's never stopped anyone."

Penny didn't really care to prove him wrong. She pulled back some limp strands of hair from her face. She would have given anything for a shower right now.

"I don't think it's a blackout anymore…" she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

The man seemed slightly put off by the change of subject, but he adapted quickly.

"What gave you that impression?" he teased.

Penny frowned. She was in no mood for another one of his "jokes". She didn't care if the man was some bohemian reject; she reserved the right to feel like shit.

"The elevator is probably broken," she said, sternly. "Which means no one will be able to use it. Which also means someone will figure out what happened."

The man seemed to consider her deduction carefully.

"Well, let's count'em off, shall we? You've got Mrs. L who just left the building and is not coming back till…"

"Probably tomorrow afternoon. She's staying with her son in the city," Penny told him, her insides churning.

"One down. Then there are those funny broads living together on the fourth floor…"

Penny remembered what Mrs. Levenstein had told her.

"Gone on vacation to Hawaii."

"Three down. That elderly couple on the fifth?"

"They're at home. No, wait. They're repainting their apartment. They're staying somewhere else."

"Five down… That leaves that cat lady living on the first floor."

Penny shut her eyes in frustration.

"And she never uses the elevator cuz she doesn't have to."

The man made a "poof" sound with his hands.

"That's all, folks."

Penny turned away and grabbed the rail, holding it tight until her knuckles went white, trying to come up with plan B. There was always a plan B.

One thing was clear though; she wasn't going to make it to her graduation.

"Shit."

The key is not to panic. And breathe. Breathe a lot. Just br- But the oxygen will run out eventually.

She shut her eyes. She couldn't think like that. There was still time.

"You okay?"

She almost wanted to laugh. Of course she wasn't okay, why would she be okay? Was he okay? He was so fucking calm, it almost set her off.

"No. We've been here for over an hour and nothing's happening."

"We'll get out, eventually."

Penny rolled her eyes. He could be really thick.

"I know that. Someone from the firm will track me down tomorrow morning. Even Mrs. Levenstein will check on me at one point, but that's hours away. Maybe days. I can't afford that. Can you?"

That's when she realized she hadn't asked him if someone would find out if he was gone.

"Wait, what about you? Will someone look for you?"

The man snorted again. "Not likely."

"No relatives, no friends?"

He opened his arms in a helpless gesture.

"People don't like artists."

She tried to suppress the sigh of disappointment. Gee, I wonder why.

"Your folks are gone, aren't they?"

She froze. Her skin turned several degrees colder, even though she was sweating like a farm animal.

"W-What?"

"Your ma and pa. The poor suckers who gave life to you. They're dead, aren't they?"

For a moment, she was left speechless. She wasn't used to people talking about death trivially. And she'd never heard anyone talk about her tragedy like it was some great big joke.

"That's none of your –"

"You asked me about relatives. It's only fair."

"No, it's not. And I'd appreciate it if you refrained from talking about it."

Her tone was icy, stern and admitted no further argument. The man held one hand up in what was meant to be a conciliatory gesture. But he didn't look sorry at all.

His tongue darted out again and this time she could clearly see he was licking his scar. He caught her looking. He always caught her looking. His eyes were very sharp.

"Old habit I can't quit," he explained, smiling.

Penny was almost tempted to ask him how he got that scar, but she was not going to talk about personal issues. No fucking way. Not after he'd mentioned her dead parents like that. How had he known anyway? Was it that obvious? She didn't want to be pitied. And she certainly didn't want to find a reason to pity him.

He was some antisocial asshole who probably never talked to girls.

She fished out her water bottle from her bag and took a refreshing, but small gulp. She was trying to save as much of it as possible.

He'd gone back to staring at himself in the mirror.

Penny sighed. Despite her resentment, she held out the bottle to him. She might not like him, but she wasn't a monster.

He seemed surprised by her gesture.

"Just take it."

"So, you're nice business lady."

"I thought we'd established I'm not a business lady."

"Then you're a nice temp."

He took a swig of her water and when he craned his head to drink she could see the soft skin of his neck glinting in the blue light. Two drops of sweat were gliding down into his shirt.

She looked away quickly. For an antisocial asshole, he wasn't completely...off-putting.

He handed back her bottle. Their fingers brushed briefly.

"I'm Jack," he said matter-of-factly.

Penny didn't know how to respond to this information. She only stared at him.

"Now you tell me your name."

She hesitated for half a second.

"Penny."

"Penny, Penny…Moneypenny. It suits you."

She almost smiled. She'd had many nicknames growing up, but no one had called her Moneypenny.

"And you're supposed to be Jack of all trades?" she asked lightly.

"And master of none," he finished, taking a bow.

She refrained from chuckling.

"You know, you have a way with words, Penny."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I don't see it."

"Oh, but you do. You call'em like you see'em, eh?"

Penny felt embarrassed again.

"And I bet people don't appreciate that. Just like they don't appreciate my jokes."

Penny looked at him sheepishly. Half the time she had no idea what he was on about.

"Don't worry. Someday they will."

The words felt more like a threat than a promise.


	3. Chapter 3

Penny blinked back a small tear that was threatening to escape her eye. Almost three hours had gone by and they were still stuck in the semi-obscurity of the overly heated elevator.

Her chest hurt from the pressure. She took steadying breaths from time to time, but nothing was really helping her. She couldn't swallow the water. It felt like drinking sand. She couldn't stand still anymore either. She was all jittery. Everything was making her nervous.

Everything, except Jack.

True, she thought he was a weirdo, but so far, he'd been a harmless weirdo.

He was trying to lighten up the mood in his typical way.

"Two more hours and I'll have missed American Idol. I'm rooting for that Kimberley chick, the one with the buckteeth. Everyone's in love with Dwayne, but I like an underdog."

Penny had given up on trying to shut him up, because even if she didn't like to admit it, his silly ramblings made it easier to bear her current predicament.

"I've always wondered what I'd do on national television. Everyone goes in trying to impress the public, make a good first impression. Me, I'd sit there quietly, like some dumb fuck who can't read. Matter of fact, I'd tell them I can't read. I'd tell them my mother never let me go to school. That's it. That's all I'd have to say. And just you watch, I'd become America's sweetheart in the blink of an eye. Poor kid who never got a break, who was deprived of "man's basic human right to education". I'd probably get a check for one hundred thousand dollars or something. To pay for some liberal arts college. And I can't even read!"

Penny was pacing back and forth, hardly listening.

She held her arms folded to her chest and went over everything she had done so far and could further do to alleviate the situation.

"Wait...you can't read?" she asked, pausing.

Jack chuckled. "I guess I can. But if I were on national television..."

Penny shook her head, already lost in her own thoughts again. His voice was akin to the buzz of the neon light.

Jack frowned, watching her pace mechanically. She moved her fingers rhythmically, counting down an invisible list of items in her head.

"What're you doing?" he asked, rolling his head against the wall. He was sitting down, hands in his lap, the picture of a scolded child who'd been sent to the corner.

She held one tightly-clenched fist to her mouth in deep thought as she kept counting down with her other hand.

"I'm gonna get dizzy from your walking," he told her, a bit louder this time.

When he saw she was still not responding, he got up gently and stood in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders to stop her.

"Moneypenny."

"Huh?"

She looked up in surprise. His hands were like an anchor, pulling down a floating ship.

"You need to sit down."

"I – I can't."

"What are you counting, anyway?"

"The doormen's schedules. At the firm. I want to figure out which one's got tomorrow morning's shift."

Jack's hands shook her shoulders lightly.

"You're only making it worse."

Penny felt a bout of nausea. His closeness was oddly perturbing. It was probably the scar, she thought. She'd never seen it this close. She stared at it freely, forgetting about the inappropriateness of her actions.

He didn't flinch. And she realized he didn't mind her staring. She'd only imagined he'd be insulted. He seemed completely comfortable about it, in fact. An irrational impulse almost made her lift her fingers to touch it. Would it feel rough or worn?

She stepped away from him, losing the warmth of his palms on her collarbone. The confinement was doing things to her head.

"It's okay. People are always curious about it," he said, guessing her line of thinking.

"I'm not – I mean it's none of my business."

"Wanna know how I got it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes searched her face, two black dots, glowing like burning coals. He could see she was curious.

Penny shook her head.

"No, I wouldn't want to pry. Besides, it's too personal."

"Well, might as well tell someone. I won't get another chance in the near future."

When he saw her alarmed expression, he quickly corrected himself.

"Not that something's gonna happen to us. We'll be fine. I know we will. But people don't listen much to me in real life."

Penny seemed in two minds about it. Jack was her only living contact at the moment. The only person who knew she was there. A forced intimacy was bound to arise.

"Come on, I'll tell you if you sit down with me."

Penny looked at the floor reluctantly. Her legs felt stiff and sore but she knew the awful feeling would not disappear if she sat down.

Jack misunderstood her apprehension.

"Ah, the lady needs a comfy seat," he said and with a fluid, catlike motion, he pulled the beige sweater over his head and put it down on the floor.

Penny felt something like a blush tinge her cheeks. She felt ridiculous. She didn't want to think of Jack as attractive, because it was only a trick of the mind. Getting stuck with someone for some time meant growing more or less attached to that person, sometimes. And she did not, under any circumstances, plan on doing that. His bare arms might have been nice to look at and his slender figure in that T-shirt was nothing to frown at, but she was above that kind of immature thinking. Especially since she'd been in the company of more attractive men without getting flustered.

"Er, thanks. You didn't have to, though."

"I insist," he said in a mock-playful tone.

Penny thought it would be rude to refuse now after he'd sacrificed his shirt.

She knelt down gingerly, pulling her feet underneath her. She felt the familiar scratchy fabric against her calves.

He plopped down next to her as gracefully as before.

"It was getting too warm anyways."

Penny knew there was half an arm's length between them, but she still felt slightly antsy. She leant her back against the wall and tried to shift further away without seeming impolite. Her hands started playing with the hem of her dress.

"So, where were we? Oh right, the scar. Well, it's not a very pretty story. Just a warning."

Penny chewed on her lip.

"I'm not a big fan of pretty stories."

Jack smiled. "You say that now..."

"Would I be living here if I were?"

"I don't know, you might be some kind of romantic, hoping to get whisked away from this place."

Penny sighed. "Either tell me, or don't."

"Patience isn't your forte, I see. Well, here we go. It was – I think it was about twenty years ago. Can't be sure about these things."

Penny stared. How could one not be sure about such things?

"I was probably ten. I remember watching Andy's Funhouse. Kaufman did comedy like no other. Mind you, he hated the term."

Penny quirked an eyebrow.

"Sorry, sorry. I get caught up in the details. My bad. So anyway, my dad came up to me one day, as I was watching Andy's Funhouse – cuz you see, I had it on tape. It was my favorite thing in the whole world. I'd gotten it as a gift from Uncle Terry. Oh, Uncle Terry was an eccentric. You'd've liked him. Right, sorry. So, my dad was in the mood for a fight. I know what you're thinking. Here's another story about some kid knocked around by a drunk bastard. Well, you'd be wrong."

He paused, letting the statement sink in. Penny waited, curiosity making her less nervous.

"He never touched alcohol. Said it was the devil's loins. He was sorta confused, my dad. Anyways, he didn't drink. He was just a bit cheesed off. Violent by nature. What? You don't think you can be violent by nature?" he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Penny hadn't shown any signs of disagreeing and she wasn't sure if it was just a rhetorical question.

"My pop was living proof of that," Jack continued, staring at the wall in front of him.

Penny watched the shadows play across his profile. The scar was smaller on this side. It made him look almost normal. Almost.

"But don't think I resent him or something. It was pretty interesting, living with a guy like that. You never got bored, you know? And I'd rather get surprised than bored."

Penny sat very still now, listening intently.

"Would you rather get surprised or bored?" he asked, not looking at her.

She mulled it over.

"I'd rather get bored," she answered, at length.

Jack chuckled. "You're right. If we only got bored, we wouldn't be here in the first place."

Penny didn't think there was a connection between the two, but she kept quiet. Somehow, the question had unsettled her on a deeper level.

"Ah, sorry again. The story's dragging on. I keep stalling. It's not like there's a grand climax or anything. It's just that, he saw me watching Andy's Funhouse. He didn't like that show, he didn't like laughing and singing and dancing. That was not his crowd. He got angry. He said it was trash. Old man wouldn't know satire if it hit him in the face! But here's how it happened. It was the end of the pilot and Andy Kaufman came up on screen and started talking to the audience. He read the words of wisdom for the week. I remember. They were "Whatever is unknown is magnified." They were written in magnified letters on a blank screen. Pretty damn brilliant, right? Pop didn't see it that way. He kept asking, what the hell does that mean? I tried to explain it to him but he just got angrier. He said, oh so you think you're smarter than me, huh? You think you know more than I do? You're a funny man, aren't you? Funny, funny man. I said sorry, I said it's just a dumb show. But he dragged me back to the kitchen to teach me a lesson in quality television. And I could still hear Andy Kaufman saying goodbye to the audience from the living room. He said, "don't be afraid of what you don't know, because remember, it always seems a lot worse than it really is." That's what he said. I kept hearing those words. It always seems a lot worse than it really is."

Penny waited with bated breath for him to continue. But he didn't. He turned to her with a lazy smile.

"Kind of like our own problem. We're stuck in a tiny box inside a bigger box, but it always seems a lot worse than it really is."

"What happened after that?"

"Hm?"

"After he dragged you in the kitchen."

"Oh...yeah, that. I don't remember, really. I just remember waking up in the hospital with my face covered in stitches. I looked like a goddamn mummy."

Penny blinked, mystified.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"I'm sorry. That's...that's horrible," she said, shivering. It was even more disturbing than if she had heard the full account. She was left to fill in the blanks and the image she came up with was terrifying.

"Did he – I mean, you were a minor. And he abused you. Didn't he go to jail?"

Jack frowned, as if the possibility hadn't occurred to him.

"I guess he could've gone to jail. But I never said anything. Ma didn't either. Uncle Terry talked to dad. And dad left. I don't know what Uncle Terry told the old man, but he disappeared without notice. Must've spooked him somehow. After that, Uncle Terry took care of us."

"And he's been gone ever since?"

"Pop? Yep."

"What if you run into him one day?"

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Well, you can't run into a dead man, can you?"

Penny frowned. "Oh. How did you find out...?"

Jack smiled, looking in the distance as if he were remembering a pleasant memory.

"I didn't. I just did it myself."

Penny wasn't sure what he meant. "Did what?"

"Put a pillow over his face, then a knife through the pillow," he muttered to himself quietly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," she said, inching closer almost unconsciously.

"I said I went to the hospital he was at before he died. I left the room before he kicked the bucket."

"Did he recognize you?"

Jack smiled.

"He recognized these," he said, pointing at the widened scars. "Said it was a work of art. Better than Andy's Funhouse, anyway."

Penny wrinkled her nose. "That's awful."

"Just goes to show the artistic gene runs in the family," he said, alluding to his own artistic inclinations.

"Nothing about this has any resemblance to art," she argued, shuddering.

"Well, you know, it's been a couple of years and I'm starting to see his point."

Penny was nonplussed.

"You can't be serious."

Jack smirked. "Why not? The scars single me out. I'm that drop in the ocean you see. You can't ignore me. Meanwhile, people like you barely manage to get out of the sea. I find my way better."

Penny scrunched her eyebrows. "What do you mean, people like me?"

"People without scars."

Penny was about to ask him why he thought she didn't have any scars, but she thought better of it.

"Well...that was some story."

"Told you it wouldn't be pretty. Your turn now."

Penny raised her head in alarm.

"My turn to what?"

"Your turn to tell me a story. It's only fair."

"I don't think that was the deal."

"There never was a deal," he pointed out.

"True, but I didn't make you share that story with me. You told me willingly."

"Well, I'm hoping you'll return the favor. Willingly."

Penny sighed. "Personal topics aren't my thing."

"I promise I won't ask about your folks."

Penny's features grew sterner.

"I didn't mean that. That is off-limits. I'm not discussing that with you or anyone."

Jack raised his palms defensively, a gesture she'd become familiar with.

"I know, I put my foot in it again."

Penny shrugged it off. "I don't have any stories to share."

"Now, we both know that's not true. Even today, even today had a story. What was it?"

"What makes you think there was a story?"

Jack's black eyes roamed over her figure. They seemed to linger at the round bend of her knees.

"You're dressed up for something special."

Penny hesitated. It didn't really matter if he found out about her graduation, did it?

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter now. I've missed it anyway."

"Missed what?"

"My graduation. I'm graduating business school."

Jack started back and whistled. "And I thought you were just heading to some fancy party. Well, congratulations."

"Thanks..." she replied morosely.

"Sorry you had to miss your big day."

"It wasn't my big day. I mean I took it more as an obligation. I'm not that torn up about it. I'm actually glad I can throw away that stupid speech..."

She winced. She'd said more than she'd intended to, yet again. She'd been letting her guard down. Not good.

"Speech?"

"It's nothing, really."

"A speech is not nothing. It's at least two paragraphs long in my experience."

Penny snorted. His jokes were terrible, but she could've laughed at anything right now.

"Wait a minute, if you're giving a speech..." he trailed off, putting two and two together.

She grimaced. "It's just business school."

Jack turned his body towards her. "Not for you it isn't. You must've given a shit about it at least once or twice."

Penny smiled wryly. "Once or twice," she agreed.

"Why don't you read it to me?"

"What?"

"Your speech. Let me hear it."

"No. Absolutely not," she replied resolutely.

"Oh, come on, it can't be that bad."

"It's not that," she said, her cheeks getting red, "it's the fact that I don't feel like going through an already ridiculous formality just to please you."

Jack shook his head. "You're a stubborn one, Moneypenny. All right, let me read it, then."

"No! Why do you want to read it so much anyway?"

"I told you, I'd rather be surprised than bored."

"My speech is not for your entertainment."

"No, but I bet it'd surprise me," he replied, winking.

Penny groaned tiredly.

"You've got nothing to lose," he persisted, as innocently as possible.

She rolled her eyes and dragged the abandoned messenger bag towards her. She fished through its contents impatiently.

She didn't want to argue with him anymore and if she were perfectly honest, she would have liked a second opinion. Who better than a complete stranger?

"Here. Knock yourself out," she told him, slapping the crumpled paper a bit too forcefully on the floor between them.

Jack grabbed it hungrily. He squinted his eyes as he poured over it quickly, his face a mask of concentration.

Penny watched him idly. She'd forgotten how worried and anxious she'd been half an hour ago. She remembered the five stages of loss. She was probably somewhere between depression and acceptance.

Jack reached the end of her speech and saw her full name written at the bottom of the page.

"Penelope Liss. Hang on... Penny Liss. Your name is literally..."

"Penniless. Yeah," Penny finished for him bitterly.

They had never called her Moneypenny. They'd called her Penniless. And now he knew too. At this point, she found she'd stopped caring.

Then, Jack did something that startled her.

He laughed.

Not his usual low chuckle. A full-on fit of laughter.

It jolted her as if she'd been electrocuted.

His laughter was high-pitched and hoarse at the same time. It came from the depths of his throat, gurgling its way out of him as if he were choking on his own saliva. It had an eerie, almost old-fashioned quality to it. As if people didn't laugh like that anymore, with their entire body and face.

"Penny Liss," he repeated, gasping for breath. "Brilliant. Kaufman would've loved that."

Penny's features darkened. She knew he'd have the same reaction as everyone else. She'd been taunted about her name for as long as she could remember. It didn't help that she was in a bad financial spot. She'd always been rather penniless. It was almost as if the name was a curse.

She realized Jack had stopped laughing.

He was staring at her, all traces of humor gone from his face. One hand reached for her arm. It grabbed her gently but firmly.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice suddenly cold and hollow.

Her eyes widened.

"Don't ever let anyone laugh at that name again. Do you understand? No one must laugh at your name again."

His grip tightened on her elbow.

She pulled away, frowning.

"You just did."

Jack nodded. "And I'll be the last."

"I can't just make people respect me. It doesn't work like that."

"It's not about respect, Moneypenny. It's about fear."

"So, you think people should fear me."

"No. But they're only gonna stop laughing when they fear the name."

A long silence stretched between them as his words sank in.

Penny was unable to come up with a reply. She was dumbstruck.

Jack handed her back the piece of paper.

"The speech is all right. Just needs a rewrite."


	4. Chapter 4

Six hours and only two battery lines left on her phone. That and the bottle of water was ¾ empty.

This was worse than last October during lunch hour when she got stuck in the supply office. This was worse than the time she was nine and got stuck on the cliffhanger at the amusement park. This was worse than being locked up in her cousin's bedroom for Thanksgiving. He wouldn't let her out until she admitted her name was "Penniless".

And now this stranger knew about that awful nickname, too. It's not that she was still tormented by it, but the guy who was only supposed to be a neighbor and nothing more now knew something really embarrassing about her past. Then again, she knew something – well, not embarrassing – but very personal about him, too. In fact, Jack had shared a very dark part of his childhood with her and then proceeded to act completely unfazed by it. As if they'd known each other for years. And yet she was the one feeling embarrassed.

But it was more than just embarrassment. After their previous discussion, he hadn't mentioned anything else about the "fear comes with the name" rhetoric, but she was still vaguely unsettled by it. It had only been a couple of months since the Scarecrow's attack. She still remembered the whole business with the fear gas. Her memories of that night were not perfect, but they were vivid enough. There was chaos and smoke in the streets, people were running in all directions, hitting each other or falling to the ground; many were screaming and cowering in fear and the whole of Gotham looked and sounded like a hellish world of nightmares. She had woken up in the hospital with a concussion. No surprise there.

She wondered if Jack had brought it up because of Scarecrow. She had time to think about these things now. There was no pressure to get anywhere. All she had was dead time. And this state involuntarily brought back memories of a similar period when time seemed to have died. These past two years had not been easy on Gotham. She thought about all those nights she had had to beg someone to carpool with her because the streets weren't safe anywhere, she thought about the shots she used to hear in the distance in every neighborhood. They had become background noise. She thought about the triple locks on her apartment door. She thought about the pathetic way she'd loiter around the firm's mini bar for hours just so she wouldn't have to go home. Even everyday problems at work had become small hiccups in the face of a much larger issue; the economic crash that had started with Wayne Industries and ended with Wayne Entertainment. People were talking about the irreversible decline of Gotham. There was a general sense of pessimism and no one believed things could get better.

And then, miraculously, they did. The stars aligned, as they would later say. First came the Batman, a whispered legend turned reality. The vigilante who started a movement. Slowly, the city regained a sense of trust and safety, which allowed Wayne Enterprises to get back on its feet. The real turn-over was its conversion to a public corporation. And of course, the fact that Bruce Wayne now seemed to give a damn about it.

These thoughts kept her occupied and distracted her from the immediate reality. They gave her purpose, something to do beyond pacing, sitting down or staring at Jack when he wasn't looking.

She wondered if her current predicament was some kind of punishment for refusing to take the stairs. She'd seen movies about this sort of thing: the absent-minded protagonist gets into a potentially dangerous situation because they didn't realize everything around them was trying to kill them. But she wasn't absent-minded. You couldn't be absent-minded in Gotham. Even the young ones were taut as spring. No one ever blinked.

And was it her fault she lived on the seventh floor?

All she knew was that if she ever got out of here – stop thinking like that! you will! – she would never take the goddamn elevator again.

Jack had taken something out of his bag and the sound pulled her away from her musings.

It was a blobby thing in saran wrap. When she took a closer look she realized it was modeling clay.

"Might just get some work done," he explained, unwrapping the clay carefully.

"Oh?"

"I wanna use my hands. You know what they say about idle hands…"

Penny was looking down at him. From where she was standing, he seemed small and childlike. The modeling clay was like a finishing touch on a little boy's portrait.

When you got closer to him, the illusion faded. His skin, his muscles, his scars, defied that image. But from afar, Jack reminded her of solitary youth.

Penny brought her hands to her temples, applying pressure slowly. She had glued to herself to the wall, in an attempt to get cooler. If only she could remove her dress… These were moments when she wished Jack was not there, so she could lie naked, truly naked, and not have to worry about being seen.

"What are you making?" she asked, after a while.

"Oh, some of this, some of that," he muttered, immersed in his modeling.

She could see his sticky fingers kneading and pinching and moving delicately in a rhythm of their own. It entranced her. She wondered if his fingers were colder than the wall. The thought vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

The truth is, she was so miserable and bored she could have invented any excuse for a distraction. But she didn't want to start another conversation with him. Not right now. She didn't want to hear him talk about sad childhoods. It was too depressing. And she didn't want to reveal another embarrassing detail about herself.

Instead, she waited and watched and sank further into a calm sort of despair. She closed her eyes and her breathing slowed down. She would get through this. She would get through this.

This was only a stop along the way. A stone in her shoe.

When she opened her eyes again, she was staring at a bat.

A yellow bat had been stuck to the opposite wall, its wings spread out clumsily. Jack pressed two fingers on the tips and stretched the clay.

He looked at the finished product with pride.

"Whaddaya think?"

Penny blinked. "It's…yellow."

"If I made it black or blue you wouldn't be able to see it in the dark."

"Isn't that their whole point?" Penny asked. "That you can't see them in the dark?"

Jack smiled. "This bat I wanna see."

"Are you a Batman fan?" she asked boldly. She'd seen kids draw bats in their notebooks, on their backpacks, even on their skin to show their appreciation and undying admiration for their hero.

"Who isn't a fan?" His face seemed to be glowing. She imagined artists, especially, would be inspired by a dark savior whose trademark was a brooding bat.

"It's comforting to know he's out there," she said, although she didn't feel very comforted at the moment. There were things the Batman couldn't do, such as rescue people from elevators he knew nothing about.

"He's an odd sort of fella. Too much of a martyr. Big appetite for violence."

Penny raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean? He's trying to prevent violence. I don't think he enjoys it."

"Sure he does. I mean, that's why he's a martyr. Haven't you read the stories in the gospels?"

"I guess I skipped on those."

"You know those sick bastards that came after Jesus, there was a whole group of them. They liked to get stabbed in the eye, have their tongues cut out and their limbs pulled off and fed to the animals. Some enjoyed getting burned at the stake, others, getting flayed alive. Those were the sickos. Those were martyrs."

Penny realized how dry her throat really was. She didn't want to waste what was left of the water. She swallowed down the saliva with some effort.

"You're saying the Batman is like that."

"I'm saying…well, you'd have to be a little crazy to go out in a cape," he said, sniggering to himself.

"It's good for camouflage," Penny argued.

"Maybe he should be yellow, like my bat. Come out and face the music."

Penny frowned. "That would be a terrible idea."

"Ah, I don't know what I'm saying. I guess I'm tired. Don't take my word for it. The Bat's a good fella. He's a good fella and that's what matters."

Penny tilted her head to the side. Either the enclosed space was affecting him too, or he was talking in riddles.

The flickering light from above was growing weaker by the minute. They were both aware it would go out at some point.

What would happen then?

The question seemed to stretch between them like a tight rope.

Jack chose to sit down again. He started making another clay bat. This one would be bigger, brighter.

She bit her lip. She almost wanted to laugh, but he was at least coping with their situation. She was just…being.

She brought her fingers to her temples again. She wondered how the graduation had gone. They had probably called her name. They had probably waited thirty seconds before moving on. One of her professors must have mentioned he was regretful she was not present and that she was a bright, ambitious young lady who was sure to succeed later in life.

No, that's what he would've said if you had been there.

Regardless, they would have applauded because she had been nice and helpful to everyone. They would have applauded because she was harmless.

Her chin was falling in her chest. She was half-asleep, dozing off like a third-grader in the middle of class on a hot summer's day.

A foreign warmth made her skin itch. It was spreading around her like a small fire, but its shadow was growing bigger. She smelled paint, clay, sweat and something akin to gunpowder.

"There, that's the last one," he mumbled, stretching the wings above her head with his sticky fingers.

Penny was shaken from her slumber and his hands dropped to their side.

She first looked up and saw the vague outline of something yellow glued right above her hairline, and then her eyes met his torso. And slowly, timidly, rose to his face.

He was staring at the bat. She was staring at him. The scars looked like fresh ink. His dry breath came in and out in short puffs from the effort. Behind him, other yellow bats were glued to the walls. There must have been at least seven. He hadn't wasted any time.

His forehead became wrinkled. The bat was not sticking right. He lifted his arms again and applied pressure to the clay.

She was encased in the small space of his arms and she dreaded to look left or right.

Penny brought her own hand to her neck and held it there, because she was afraid she might reach out. He wasn't moving away, he was standing close enough so that if he spoke, she would be able to taste his words and that confused and unsettled her. Personal space was becoming an illusion.

"I can't breathe," she confessed.

The oxygen had diminished considerably and with him standing there so close, the warmth was unbearable.

For a moment, it seemed like he hadn't heard her. Then, he rested one hand againt the wall, right next to her face and the other one reached out and wiped away the beads of sweat at her forehead. He barely touched her skin.

It was both soothing and unnerving. She squirmed away.

Jack smiled, his scars cracking like old leather.

"I think I have an idea."


	5. Chapter 5

Seven hours had passed and her battery was almost dead. The bottle of water was…somewhere. She couldn't find the energy to look for it. To top it off, she had to pee. And she knew she wouldn't be able to hold it in forever.

Jack was crouched over his bag, fishing through it with purpose. He seemed to have all the energy in the world.

Penny watched him, saw his eagerness and dared to hope. If he'd gotten an idea, maybe there was a chance they could get out of there faster, because her mind was a blank and unless one of them came up with something soon, they really would have to spend all night there.

She was usually the ideas girl in any situation. It felt weird to stagnate so completely and watch someone else take over. But that's what happens when you've been deprived of water, food, oxygen and space for a large amount of time.

Not Jack, though. He looked tired, but he definitely wasn't.

"Come on, where's that old thing…" he muttered as he rummaged through his bag.

"What are you looking for?"

"Just my can opener."

Penny frowned. How did he always manage to say something weird?

"Can opener? How would that help?"

"I'll show you when I find it."

Penny willed herself to move from the wall. Her back was growing stiff. She flexed her knees. Her skin was even clammier than before. She was pretty sure that if she collapsed right that moment, she wouldn't even realize it. It felt like she was sleepwalking.

"Eureka!" Jack cried victoriously.

He was holding a common-looking can opener, nothing special, but to her, it looked like the golden chalice.

He went to the double doors that were still firmly shut and jammed it in the small space between them, wrenching the handle towards him as if he were trying to tear off the metal.

Penny figured out what he was trying to do, but she couldn't possibly imagine it would work.

"I don't know if that's enough," she said, drawing nearer.

Jack was undeterred though. "It's got to."

"Doors magically open for you?" she asked, but the sarcasm was barely there.

"In more ways than one," he answered, panting. He put his entire weight into it, bending his body in outlandish positions as he tried to make the doors break apart. It looked cartoonish.

She couldn't suppress a giggle.

Jack peeked at her over his shoulder.

"Looks like I'm trying to break up Romeo and Juliet," he said and he whistled, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Penny chuckled again, too tired to resist his childlike humor.

"Need some help?"

He smirked. "You think you're stronger than me?"

"No, but I'm sure you've never used a can opener in your life," she said, suppressing a smile.

Jack laughed. "Ah, Moneypenny, sharp as always."

It was so strange, how familiar they had grown in the span of hours. He was calling her Moneypenny, she was throwing jibes at him and yet they were complete strangers and many times during this unfortunate occurrence she had felt downright uncomfortable around him.

She still did, but that somehow didn't prevent the familiarity.

Maybe he's forcing you into it, a tiny voice in her head told her, but she ignored it. Jack was at least trying to help. She had to give him credit for that. He wasn't bad, she could tell. He was an oddball with a bad childhood and some remnant scars. But he wasn't bad.

"Well, here, try your hand. I think we'll need one more item," he said, throwing her the can opener.

She surprised herself by catching it. Jack threw her a thumbs up which made her smile.

Penny tried to go about it a different way. She didn't jam the can opener between the doors. She rose on her tiptoes and stuck the gadget in the space between the ceiling and the doors, trying to see if it would open there.

She heard Jack ransacking his belongings. He was probably not very organized. Artists rarely were.

She could feel a kind of release of pressure from the metal casing, so she thought she must have done something right.

And then she had an epiphany.

"What if the elevator's actually stopped at one of the floors and not in between? What if we could get out?" she asked, feeling a sense of elation taking over her.

"Let's hope your words are gold, Moneypenny."

He came up behind her and she saw the shimmer of something long and slim in his hand, then there was a loud clang above her head, and the rest was darkness. There was no light anymore. The small neon light had finally died out.

"Shit," she cursed, holding out her hands in front of her, frightened. "Jack? Jack?"

"Right here."

And he was, right there. Right behind her, breathing down her neck. His eyes were trained on the large kitchen knife he was using the pull the doors open. His hand was on the handle. It moulded to his grip perfectly, as if he'd used it many times in the past. And he had.

But she couldn't see. She couldn't see anything.

"Don't panic. It's, uh, it's just the dark, you know," he continued, and his voice vibrated against her hair. "It's not an enemy. It's actually pretty friendly once you get to know it."

Penny wished he could see how hard she was rolling her eyes. She stepped back only to bump into his chest. He was impossibly near again and the space was even smaller.

Goddammit, not again.

It was like a dance she couldn't avoid. Perhaps two people in a box really couldn't help but collide.

Penny tried to duck under his arm and escape the cage, but he sensed her movement and took a step towards her, effectively closing her off. There was only a thin layer of air left between them. She had no choice but to lean her face against the doors.

"Stand still, Moneypenny. I think these lovers are gonna finally say goodbye."

She heard a scraping sound, like metal on metal, only harsher and when she looked up, she could see the shimmer of something long again, swishing through the darkness.

Not a clay bat, that's for sure.

"What are you doing?" she asked and her voice came out raw and resentful. She was back to discomfort.

"Just a sec."

"Why do I have to stand still?"

"Because if you move, you make me move too. It'll all be over soon."

The noise almost deafened her. The elevator gears were howling like hungry hyenas or dying whales or any other terrifying animal metaphor she could come up with. Either way, it sounded ghastly.

And then, she was falling.

The doors had opened quite unexpectedly and the sudden, delicious intake of fresh oxygen was followed by an absence of gravity as her body literally fell out of the elevator.

And she would have probably fallen to her death.

But his arm was there, locked around her waist, holding her gently and firmly.

Her upper body was leaning out of the elevator, arms grasping air helplessly. Her hair had fallen over her face like a heavy curtain, blocking everything around her. She was literally hanging by a thread. Jack was only holding her with one arm. His other hand was holding the kitchen knife.

His hand was warm under her breasts. His fingers spread suddenly, sending jolts through her body. His thumb brushed against her nipple by accident. He was cupping one breast.

"Jack," she croaked, finding her voice.

And it was as if he'd snapped out of a trance.

He quickly pulled her up towards him and she collapsed against his back, breathing hard. He almost lost his balance, but he didn't remove his hand.

Her head was in the nook of his neck and she turns towards him, cold and shaking.

"Jack," she spoke and her lips accidentally touched his jaw.

His hand drew comforting circles on her stomach.

"It's all right, Moneypenny."

She couldn't spit out the words. She wanted to say thank you, but his hand was still there. And he had touched her in an intimate way and she couldn't go back. How do you go back?

"Ah, afraid we're stuck between floors," he spoke into her forehead.

She turned her head and saw the cold hard wall in front of them. Impenetrable, colorless bricks staring back through the dark.

She suppressed a shiver.

His chest was warm, though. Warm and sweaty. His T-Shirt clung to his skin like a wet towel and her dress clung to him like he was wearing it instead, like he was wearing her.

And she didn't really know anymore, familiarity or discomfort?

His hand moved from her stomach to her thigh.

"Can you stand?"

Penny nodded her head, but she didn't move. His hand had stopped. It was resting, waiting on her thigh.

What am I doing? she wondered.

She'd heard about ecstasy. She supposed almost dying, then not dying could make you feel immense joy.

She had been suspended and now she was back on firm ground. She had been weightless and now, his palm weighed more than the whole goddamn elevator.

He only did it to save you, she reasoned in her head. He wouldn't have touched you like that otherwise.

"Thank you," she managed to say at last.

Jack smiled into her hair. The handle of the kitchen knife was sticking out of his back pocket.

"Did you think I was gonna let you fly?" he asked lightly.

Yes. No. I have no fucking idea.

"I – I'm sorry about your can opener."

"Huh?"

"I think it fell down there."

Jack shook his head. "I don't care about that. I've got something better."

Then in a very soft whisper, almost inaudibly, he mouthed the words "a pretty blade."

"What did you say?"

"I said I've got a pretty girl."

Penny would have blushed, but she'd heard lines like this from Ryan and Brent too many times.

She finally managed to extricate herself from his hold.

The spell was broken.

"What, you don't believe me?" he asked in a mock-hurt voice.

She couldn't see his face in the dark all that well, but she knew he was smirking and the scars were probably smirking with him.

She dared approach the edge of the elevator. She looked down into nothingness and shrank inwardly.

"Long drop, eh?"

"Jesus."

"You're fine. Just don't lean out too far…not sure I can catch you a second time."

Penny stepped away.

"Told you I had an idea. Now the lady has all the fresh air she needs."

Penny knew he was there, she could even see his outlines. But hearing his voice in the dark and nothing else made her crave for their previous embrace, just so she could feel another presence, another body near. She didn't like to think of him as a disembodied voice. He was like the Cheshire Cat.

"That's true," she admitted, taking a deep breath. "Thanks."

There was a gaping hole where the doors used to be, but it offered oxygen. And she breathed it all in.

"You don't happen to have a lighter, do you?" she asked.

"Don't smoke."

"Oh. I see."

"I think your phone's dead."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorta knocked out. Gonna sit down for a while," he told her and he silently removed the knife from his back pocket as he lay down on the floor, in his familiar corner.

Penny stood in the middle of the elevator like a lost child. Her head was swimming and everywhere she looked, it was pitch black. She almost wanted to lie down next to him, just so she wouldn't have to stand this absolute sensation of nothingness. Without his voice in the dark, she truly felt alone.

But Penny had been alone many times and this, though exponentially worse, was no different.

The oxygen had revived her. She clenched her teeth, balled her fists and slowly sank to her knees. First thing, she was going to find her bag and take out some napkins.

Second, she was going to find a light source, no matter what.

Jack watched her in the dark as shadows moved across the mirrors. He smiled and traced his thumb over the knife's razor edge. He caressed the knife in a way he had almost caressed her.

Penny found her bag and fished out some napkins. She dabbed her face, her hair, her chest. She wiped away all traces of fear, or tried to.

There had been blackouts before and she had survived them all.

Besides, it couldn't be that bad. Even if she felt alone, she wasn't. She had Jack.


	6. Chapter 6

Some people are afraid of the dark because they have no idea what they might find there. Penny was afraid of the dark because she knew there was nothing. And that nothingness scared her because there was no object to fear, no subject to fear it, which meant she was alone with her own thoughts. And her thoughts terrified her more than anything.

Now, she was still afraid, but it was different since there was also Jack.

Having someone with you in complete darkness is comforting. Knowing that someone else, just like you, is going through the same experience, cushions the blow.

You know there is a subject, after all. And he feels fear, too.

She thanked the gods for her napkins. They seemed like the only dry thing in this humid universe. She pressed the wads to her forehead. Her head was pounding. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark to a certain extent. Somewhere in that tunnel of dead air there was light. This darkness was not endless.

"Hey, do you want some napkins?" she asked.

"Nah, keep them," he replied in a gravelly voice.

Every five minutes or so, she would call out to him with a random question.

Sometimes it would just be, "Jack?"

And he would promptly answer "here".

Her phone was dead, but holding it in her hand, feeling the weight of it, almost gave her a sense of balance. Like any moment the screen would come back to life.

"Jack?"

"Here."

She hadn't told him what to say, but he seemed to know. Talking too much would have distracted her. Not talking at all would have made it worse.

"Here" was a lovely compromise.

His voice was soothing, to some extent. She sensed some emotion in it. She couldn't identify it, but there was an intensity to it that hadn't been there before.

Maybe this is how he copes with fear, she thought.

She wasn't sure if he was afraid, though. Jack seemed to fall in with every new situation like clockwork. Maybe his aloof weirdness protected him.

Something rolled out of her bag and fell through the opening down into the tunnel. She stood still and waited to hear the familiar clang of an object hitting the floor.

It came far too late.

She tried not to think about it.

More items came out of her bag but she made sure nothing escaped her grasp. She spent some time combing through everything, taking some form of comfort in the activity even though it proved fruitless. She found her headphones at the bottom. She thought she had lost them. She stuck one in her ear, pretending she could hear something that was not there.

She waited for several moments before speaking.

"Bad news," she said, pressing the napkin to her smudged eyeliner, "I can't find any light source."

"Mmm. Yeah, thought so. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, you know," Jack replied in a resigned fashion.

"I guess we have to…" she trailed off, not really knowing what they were supposed to do.

"…wait," he finished for her.

"Patience has never been my virtue," she murmured.

"Mine either. But I wouldn't worry. It's coming."

"What is?"

"The moment when something will happen."

Penny wondered if he was being cryptic on purpose.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, things have been going in one steady rhythm only, shall we say. But I see a change on the horizon."

Penny put down the napkin. "Are you for real right now, or just talking out of your ass?"

Jack laughed in that tooth-picky way of his that made her nose wrinkle.

"Talking out of my ass."

She chuckled, exhaling softly.

"God. How did we end up here? How did this happen to us?"

"You mean in this elevator or Bloomherst?"

"Both."

"We were dealt a bad hand, Moneypenny."

Penny pushed her now rather useless bag aside and leant against the opposite wall.

"Bad hand, huh? You mean like cards? I'm not good with those."

"I'm not good with many things, except guessing hands. And this was a bad one."

"Do you always talk in riddles?" she asked, rubbing the back of her neck.

"What riddles?"

"I don't know, everything you say sounds like something you rehearsed. Are all artists like this, or are you special?"

"What do you think?"

"Well, I don't think I've ever met someone like you," she confessed.

"You've known me for less than a day, Moneypenny."

"And yet it feels like a decade in this place," she joked.

Jack made a sound between a laugh and a cough. He tapped the knife against his forehead, counting down the minutes before he could finally use it. The moment was coming…it was coming…it had to come.

"I wasn't," she suddenly said, afraid that if she stopped talking now, she wouldn't be able to open her mouth again. "I wasn't dealt a bad hand."

Jack remained quiet, waiting for her to continue, but she didn't.

"Care to elaborate?" he asked, inching forward.

"I'm only saying I don't think I had it worse than most people," she supplied.

"Now who's talking – how did you put it? – out of her ass?"

Penny stifled a snort.

"But I didn't. I got on fine, for the most part. I mean, I'm pretty sure my childhood sucked far less than yours."

The mention of his childhood made Jack smile.

"My story really got to you, huh? I mean, if you're saying that being an orphan was "getting on fine"…"

Penny recoiled from him. "I'm not saying that. It would be absurd to claim either of our childhoods was "ideal". I'm only being realistic. I never suffered abuse."

"We all suffer abuse, one way or another."

Penny considered his words. "It matters, though, who the abuser is."

Jack turned the knife in his palm. He smiled.

"Sharp as always, Moneypenny."

Even though she couldn't see him, she knew he was smirking. She could almost feel it. You can sense people's reactions better when you can't see them.

"Aren't you tired of calling me that?"

"Not in this century. So getting back to our initial point, you're saying, if I got your meaning right, that you being stuck in this shithole had nothing to do with your bad luck."

Penny frowned. "First of all, Bloomherst is not a "shithole". It just needs a good varnish and definitely a new elevator. And second, I don't believe in luck."

Jack made a sound of disapproval. "I agree about the varnish. But someday, you'll reconsider the luck part."

"I don't think so."

Jack traced the deep lines of his palm with the sharp tip of his knife.

"You'll call it something else. But you'll believe in it."

"Okay, what makes you so sure I will?" she asked, pressing another napkin to her neck.

Jack chuckled. "Isn't it obvious? Because you met me. And once you've met me, your luck will change for sure."

Penny couldn't help laughing at that.

"Thanks. That cheered me up."

Jack grimaced, but kept his tone light. "I wasn't trying to cheer you up."

"Well, you did, either way."

She sensed movement in front of her. He was getting up.

"My legs are stiff," he explained.

She looked up at the darker shadow rising from the corner. Now that she could see exactly where he was, she no longer felt he was a disembodied voice.

"Um, hey, thanks again," she started awkwardly. "For what you did earlier."

Jack scratched the back of his neck with the knife.

"You mean that little trick? Don't think about it."

"Thanks, either way. You sort of saved my life, you know."

"Well, I always say, if you're gonna die, make it interesting. Think about all those poor bastards who've done nothing with their miserable lives. They get one chance to make something spectacular. A lousy elevator fall doesn't count."

"…are you talking about me here?"

"No way, Moneypenny. You're top notch. And top notch people go out with a bang. I'm sure if you weren't stuck here, your death would be mag-ni-fi-cent."

He drawled out the last syllables in a strange sing-song voice.

Penny felt a shiver run down her spine. She did not like this talk about her hypothetical death. She did not like it all.

"But I am stuck here. We both are," she spoke casually, hoping to change the subject.

"That's right. So it's my responsibility to make sure you don't die like some reckless idiot. I'm the artist, remember? It's a "win-win", as you people in business like to call it."

Penny wrinkled her brow. "Wait, are you joking right now?"

Jack took a step toward her.

"I never joke."

Penny realized one second too late what was happening, before he grabbed her by the neck and slammed her into the wall.

She saw stars. A deeper blindness than darkness, brought on by the rush of blood to her head. He had hit her head hard and she felt dizzy.

"See, I told you something would happen," he mouthed into her ear.

Penny tried to scream, but her throat was closed off. His fingers had turned her skin red. She clawed at his hand with her nails, but then she felt something stabbing her in her stomach and she froze.

"I know what you're gonna say," Jack drawled, amused, "is that a knife jabbing me in the thigh or are you just happy to see me? The answer is both, sweetheart."

And Penny suddenly realized how he had pried the doors open. She realized why she had seen a glint in the dark.

And she realized, in a flash, that she had been horribly, horribly wrong.

Panic hit her in waves. There's no one else here. No one.

"Don't – do – this," she managed to say hoarsely, still holding onto his hand.

Tears welled up in her eyes. One moment they were joking. The next he was someone else.

"Don't do this, you're so much better than this, I won't tell anyone," he whined in a mocking voice, pulling faces she couldn't see. "Is that what you're trying to say?"

Penny didn't care that he was making fun of her; raw terror had taken over. She had to get out of there, get away from him.

"Now don't act like this is a random act of violence, Moneypenny. Don't even dare. This was planned by you and me. The two of us, as a team," he continued calmly, keeping her in place while he trailed the knife across the fabric of her dress, making it hitch around her thighs.

Penny started thrashing uncontrollably, but he was stronger than she had thought.

"It's just like you put it in your speech. What was it, what was it again…?" he trailed off, trying to remember. "Ah! Right! Success is not a solitary condition. What's that, John Locke? I'm sure you didn't think of that one by yourself. But you're right, you know. We need each other to succeed."

Penny could only hear one word ringing in her head loud and clear.

Run run run run run run run run run ru-

"You got on this elevator, see? You got in with me. And you really shouldn't have done that. Not today of all days. But I didn't stop you. I figured, no harm done. Pretty girl won't have to die. But then the elevator had to stop. You know why? Because, as it turns out, you're coming with me, after all."

Penny wrenched her head away, but only managed to pull a muscle.

"You still don't get it. I can't have you walk out of here with your life. Because it's mine now."

Penny raised one leg and tried to hit him in the groin, but he caught it between his legs and laughed.

"Easy there, Moneypenny. You're gonna make me blush."

When that didn't work, she reached out with her hands towards his face, but he ducked in time and only the tip of her fingers scraped his scars. She felt like throwing up.

"You can't get enough of me," he teased.

The dress had now rolled up to her stomach and the knife was running freely across her warm skin. She shut her eyes as tears ran down her cheeks freely.

This was a new lesson: the dark is not your thoughts. The dark is not loneliness. The dark is not emptiness. The dark is fullness. It's always something and that something is out to get you.

At first she didn't feel the pain because a couple of scratches don't hurt too much, but then, when she felt the warm blood dripping down her thighs she realized it hurt, because she was being depleted, emptied out of herself. It was as if someone were pulling threads out of her skin.

She gasped when the knife pierced her even deeper, cutting across her pelvis. It was almost as if he were carving a shape into her.

And then the knife moved away from her skin and she almost felt relief.

Maybe if she distracted him, if she pulled the knife out of his hand without hurting herself, if she could reach her bag…

"Your body is a strange contradiction, isn't it?"

She froze for the second time.

"One moment, terror. The next, ecstasy."

The knife's blade was slowly and gently caressing her panties. It moved in circles across the thin fabric, sending vibrations troughout her body. It had found the damp spot in the middle and was toying with it, ruthlessly.

His breath was on her ear again.

"What do you think, should I pinch your stomach or your cunt? Your choice, Moneypenny."

"F-Fuck you," she managed to spit out.

He laughed. "That's what I thought."

He drew his wrist back and she could see it, even though it was dark, she could feel what he was about to do with a kind of mechanic precision.

He was getting ready for a real blow. No more pinching.

Her breath stopped. She grabbed the knife by the blade before it reached her and in one quick move turned it against him.

Jack crushed her chin in his hand as he banged her head against the wall, but she didn't let go of the blade, even when it cut deep through the skin of her palm.

She screamed as he tried to twist it out of her hand.

"Shit!" he cursed.

She had broken the skin of his upper arm and jabbed him painfully in the ribs. She was momentarily released.

Penny didn't wait.

She bolted out of his grip, but Jack was fast.

He pulled her by her dress and ripped half of it clean off of her. The fabric was hanging loosely around her thighs.

She wrenched away, screaming, but he made her trip and she collapsed on her knees.

She tried to scramble out of his way, but he'd already recovered his knife.

She howled in pain, trying to crawl away desperately. He had sunk the knife in the lower calf of her leg. He drew it out and prepared to stab her again.

Penny lunged forward and grabbed onto the first thing she found; his bag.

Reaching into it frantically, she pulled out a can and threw it at him.

Jack ducked.

She threw another, this one hitting him in the shin. He lowered the knife.

"That's some fine paint you're wasting, Moneypenny."

She started throwing out everything from his bag, searching for a weapon, anything to give her leverage.

Two more cans of paint. More clay. Wet rubber gloves. Bug spray. Five credit cards. A rotten apple core. Shaving cream. And there, right at the bottom, a key chain with a tiny flashlight on it.

And that, that was what undid her.

Beyond everything that had happened to her, this hurt the most. This blatant, cruel betrayal.

"You had light," she croaked, grabbing the chain. "You had light."

She turned it on and moved it around haphazardly, the small ray barely grazing through the dark. She stared, wide-eyed, at the strange and deformed clay bats that graced each wall, like a ghastly memory of her confinement. The shadows grew into grotesque shapes, converging with one another in one giant pair of wings.

Jack whistled as he looked around.

"Irony at its finest."

She stuck the light into his eye and saw his grim, otherworldly expression. She couldn't even tell anymore where his scars ended and his skin began.

His black orbs had rounded on her and she felt in that one moment, lying down on the floor, with the flashlight between her fingers and her leg bleeding everywhere, that she was going to die.

Panic overwhelmed her once more, but a new feeling, a different, more powerful feeling rose from the depths. She dropped the flashlight and its ray landed on one of the bats.

Rage consumed her.

He had betrayed her. He had played her for a fool.

"Do it, then! Get it over with, you coward!" she yelled. "It's the only thing you can do! Do it!"

She was resolved to jump out of the elevator rather than give into him. No matter what, she wasn't going to let him do this to her. She moved closer to the edge.

Could she jump? Could she actually do it?

Jack only watched her. Studied her, more like it. She could have sworn he looked disappointed, as if she had not yet grasped an essential truth.

"Coward? No, Moneypenny. A coward would slice you and dice you and be done with you. But I already told you. You're coming with me. And I'm going with you. We're doing this together."

Penny gripped the edge of the elevator.

"What are you saying?"

"Success is not a solitary condition," he recited ceremoniously.

And somehow, she understood. She finally understood. And she wished she hadn't.

"You're going to kill me. And then you're going to kill yourself."

Jack smiled. "That would be the plan."

It made sense now; his strange behavior, his cryptic words, his childhood confession, his bats…Once that elevator had stopped, he had decided to die right there and then. He had prepared his altar. And he was going to sacrifice them both.

"You're – you're insane. You're full-on crazy."

Jack tilted his head back. "Insane? But you understand. Which makes you…kinda loony too, doesn't it?"

"What – what was the initial plan?" she asked, applying pressure to her bleeding leg. Without a tourniquet, this was the best she could do.

Jack wiped the blood off the blade. Her blood.

"Ah, that. That plan was to come back from work, put on good clothes, shower, shave and end it, in the comfort of my own bathroom. But plans change. Especially since my boss didn't go down easy."

"W-What did you do?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I, uh, I sort of overdid it. He wasn't alone. Had to off his kid too. Didn't mean to. Nine year-old. Bright chump. Thought he'd be at school. Ah, can't be helped, Moneypenny. You don't mean to, but you have to finish it. Once you start something, you owe it to them to finish it."

I owe it to you, too, he seemed to say.

And Penny realized he really was going to do it. He had no motivation to stay alive. Whatever had happened to him in the past, it had driven him to extreme measures. If he didn't do it now, the police would soon be onto him and he'd probably get locked up in Arkham Asylum for the terminally insane.

And Jack, he didn't seem to think he was insane.

"This town with all these sick people and all their sick kids hanging on to you, begging you. It's like they're all asking for a tragedy. Have you seen their faces, Moneypenny? Look at them. Look at those crazy eyes. All those fuckers around you, they're never happy until something wrecks them. They're chasing after death. Not just any death, not just any tragedy. I told you, they want something spectacular.

"And I want to. I wanna offer them something spectacular. I wanna put on a show. I wanna blow their brains out. Cirque du Soleil. But I can't. Can't do it on my own. It's only me, you see. And here, I've got you. One piece of Gotham. And that's it. You and I, Moneypenny. The rest, well, someone else will have to entertain the rest."

She had trained for this all her life. She had been trained to make snap decisions. She had had to act fast many times. Her mind was accustomed to working five times faster than normal during crises. This was a task for an overachiever.

He had killed two people, as far as she knew. A man and a child.

He had been sloppy, maybe. Surely.

The police must already be on the search for him.

Which meant they were going to come here, to Bloomherst, and search this building.

A way out. A way out.

I have to keep him alive until they arrive.

Because she also knew, her life depended on his now.

"Okay...okay," she spoke and her eyes darted wildly about the floor, trying to grab onto something. Anything.

"I get the shaving cream. I get the gloves. I get the bats. What about the paint? What's the use for that?"


	7. Chapter 7

"The paint. The paint, the paint, the paint," he muttered, as if this were the first time he was hearing about it. He seemed puzzled by her question. It was obvious to him _why_. Yet she was asking him. Therefore, she expected an answer.

Penny could see half of his face twitching in the mirror. The thin ray of light was casting shadows on the dark glass. The bats looked infinite. She wished now she hadn't dropped the key chain.

_You need something to stop the bleeding, stop the bleeding…pressure…pressure…_

Her thoughts were fragmentary and disjointed. She only knew she had to stay alive and keep him alive, too.

Her eyesight kept going in and out of focus as she listened to the sound of his voice. That was her guide; the husky, scratchy voice that made her skin crawl.

"The paint's for disguise, naturally!" he suddenly snapped, flailing his arms about.

"What, you think I want to get caught or something?!" he continued spasmodically.

Penny flinched, turning her head sideways.

"Is that what you're getting at?!"

She shook her head weakly.

"I mean, at least not right away," he added gently, his outburst forgotten. His voice was soft again. "I always intended to be found out, one way or another. But not immediately. I want to soak up that feeling of complete chaos before I go. Mind you, not just any chaos. You'll see all these punk talk about anarchy. That's not what gets me high. Anarchists are a bunch of sissies. They want to upset the order of society. No, _real_ chaos is upsetting the order aligned by Mother Nature herself. That's the real show. That's _spectacular_. You know what I'm talking about?"

Penny looked up at him, her eyes darting quickly over his face, trying to register how close or how far he was from doing what he meant to do.

Then her eyes flew downwards to his sweat-drenched T-shirt. The fabric stuck to his skin and outlined every muscle, every bone. She could even picture the joints, the fiber, everything that held his body together and made it one. She couldn't picture his heart, though. There must be a hole where the heart should be. But she didn't attribute his heartless condition to cruelty or madness.

No. He had been born without a heart because he did not belong, he was strange, deformed and grotesque and all _wrong_. He was not meant to live among humans. And he knew it.

 _Shirt… he was wearing a beige shirt…_ her mind suddenly sparked.

Yes, he had pulled it off for her. She remembered. That was eons ago.

If she could find it, she could wrap it around her leg. But she would have to move from her corner.

"Don't be coy, Moneypenny, you can tell me," he continued with a hint of impatience in his voice, pointing the knife in her direction. "I'm not gonna hold it against you. We all make mistakes, we all upset the order. So I'm asking you again, do you know what I'm talking about?"

Penny's mind was racing.

"Uh, yes…I assume… I don't – if you mean, have I ever made a mistake? Then yes, I have made many mistakes," she rambled on desperately.

Jack shook his head.

"Not just a mistake, toots. Haven't you been listening? Let's say you reaaally botched it up. Let's say you unleashed a fucking tornado of chaos. Have you ever done that? Of course you have. And after it happened, your first thought wasn't " _oh no, I'm gonna get in sooo much trouble for this!_ " No! Your first thought was, _I did that. I have that power. That was me._ So you'll understand why I want to relish that feeling a while longer."

Penny felt another bout of nausea. _I did that. I have that power. That was me._

Her thoughts were clustering, unraveling, like a ball of yarn rolling down the elevator shaft, and she could see a face in the back of her mind. At first she thought it was her own.

But no, it was her mother's face. So much like her own, yet so different. It was her mother's face right before she got in that car. Her mother's warm, trusting face. She had smiled and her eyes had not guessed anything.

_I did that. I have that power. That was me._

The memory was swollen in a blur of images and sounds.

Penny fought to stay awake.

She pushed herself away from the wall and started crawling towards him.

Jack watched her with curiosity. His eyes skimmed over her naked figure, but he only looked at the skin of her back and the way it seemed to mold and break with every movement she made.

"Can't stay away from me, can you?" he teased.

But she was not looking at him. She was not even acknowledging his presence. She looked as if she was in a trance. Her hands were feeling the ground.

Jack grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her up to his level.

She screamed, but even her voice sounded far away.

"Why aren't you listening to me? You asked about the paint, didn't you? Don't you wanna know?!" he yelled in her face.

Penny took large gulps of breath, as if she were drowning.

"Y-yeah, I just n-need that s-shirt," she sputtered, holding onto his hand.

Jack blinked.

"Your shirt," she repeated.

He smiled. "Oh. My mistake. Let me help you with that."

He dropped her to the floor. She fell with a thud, but she didn't care. He had turned on his heel and was picking up the discarded item. He meant to give it to her. Her heart leapt in her chest. She was going to –

"So, how high can you jump for it?" he asked, holding the shirt over her head. He was shaking it, the way you'd shake a toy in front of a child.

"Please," she rasped, holding her hand out.

"Na-ah! You gotta jump for it! Otherwise, what's the point?"

"I can't."

"Well, that's too bad," he replied, putting the shirt over his shoulder. "I can't just hand it over."

"I was – I was listening, you know," Penny spoke, trying her best to look at him. She was seeing dark spots.

"Uh-uh. That's what all you business people say. I _care_. I _listen_. I _understand_."

"You said you used the paint for disguise," she said, pressing a hand to her forehead to keep her head from falling in her chest.

"That's right," he said, suddenly engaged in the conversation again. "When I make myself up, no one knows me. No one even sees me. I don't _exist_."

His eyes were dancing with excitement as he continued describing his ritual.

"I splash on the red, white, black, violet and green all over my face, doesn't matter how or where. It's as stealth as wearing a mask. The Bat is fooling himself with the whole ensemble, I'm telling you. In fact, he's doing us freaks a favor. If people don't notice darkness, they notice light even less. I'm hiding in plain sight. I'm not Jack anymore. Anyone could become me. And I'm _no one_."

Penny frowned.

"You're no one?"

"Remember Andy Kaufman? He was hiding in plain sight, too! He was everyman, and yet he was like no man! You could never figure him out. He was the most honest guy in the world, but you could never figure him out."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Here, let me show you!"

He was as giddy as a child. He grabbed the paints from the floor and opened the cans with his knife.

Penny was instantly hit by the paint fumes. She coughed, putting a hand over her mouth.

"It'll just be a minute. You'll see, I'll be unrecognizable!"

She watched him as he dabbed one end of the shirt into the white vat and started painting his face.

"I don't even need the mirror. Gotta have a layer first," he muttered, working on his cheeks.

Penny swallowed down the bile as she took another breath of the fumes.

She didn't know how many minutes passed, but she was ready to faint from the smell. It was a miracle she was still conscious.

But if she really thought about it, she'd rather be unconscious, just so she could rest and sleep. Her whole body screamed with exhaustion.

_No! You need to stay awake!_

"Ta-daaa!" he announced and turned to face her.

Penny gaped at him. He looked like a cross between a toddler's finger art and a psychotic clown.

His entire face was stark white, like a geisha's. The violent red covered his mouth and chin, making his scars look freshly cut, as if he were bleeding, the black enshrouded his deep-set eyes, and violet lines were dabbed on his forehead and chin. Green paint dripped from his hair.

"Whaddaya think? You can't even tell it's me, can you?"

Penny shook her head.

"I wish."

"If I came to you in the night, you'd scream, but you wouldn't know who you're screaming for. You'd just see this face. And isn't that worse?"

"Is that what you want? Anonymity?"

"I told you, Moneypenny. All I want is to watch the chaos as it unfolds. And if the price is being no one, then I'll take it."

Penny nodded her head, as if that made perfect sense to her.

"How will you watch the chaos unfold if you kill yourself?"

Jack's expression darkened. She could see the cogs turning in his head. She held a mad hope that she could plant doubt in that jungle of thoughts.

"Why would you kill yourself now? You're just beginning, aren't you?" she pressed on.

Jack chuckled. "Oh, Moneypenny. Nothing escapes you."

"So why... why are you doing this?"

"Don't try my patience. I _told_ you, I can't take on this whole city by myelf. I tried. I had my run. Better to go out with a bang."

"No. That's not an answer. That's _bullshit_. You've been having second thoughts about this whole...persona, haven't you? And finally, killing that kid is what did it for you. You realized you can't do it anymore. You want out."

Jack growled. "You're _really_ pushing it, Moneypenny. I liked your sob stories at first, but now -"

"How many times have you, have you made yourself up like this?"

"Why? What are you getting at?"

" _Please_ , I just need to know."

Jack's eyes returned to their lackadaisical, cruel black glint. He grimaced, his whole body cringing. He turned away.

"I'm just trying to find my method. Everyone's got a method. You've got your suits and briefcases. I've got this. I'm trying to be an…an _individual_. Funny, I know. A guy who effaces himself is trying to stand out. But you see, Moneypenny, individuality is not about _being_ someone, it's about _doing_ something. Being Jack didn't do it for me. Being no one _does_."

Penny stood on all fours. She couldn't kneel. She had to ease the pain in her leg. She had to stay alive.

"How many times?" she asked again, before he lost track of the question.

Jack sighed. "Jesus, fine. _Three times_. Okay? Are you goddamn satisfied?"

Penny let out a breath of relief.

"So you only killed three times?"

Jack whirled on her so fast she wondered he hadn't pulled a muscle.

"What makes you think I only kill when I dole myself up?"

"Individuality is not about being someone, it's about doing something," she recited, looking up at him through sweat and dried tears.

Jack whistled, cracking a smile.

"Sharp as always, Moneypenny."

Penny's whole face was pleading. She had to keep him alive to keep herself alive.

"Don't you see, Jack? You killed three times and you felt _awful_. You wanted to end your life, because you couldn't do it anymore. You tried. But you felt guilt. You felt remorse. Listen to me, Jack. That means you're not lost. That means you can get help. I know you think killing yourself is the only option, but it's not. There are people out there who do worse things and don't give a shit, but you _do_. What you've done – it's not, it's not the end of the world. I know you didn't even mean to kill that kid. I know, I know you're not really a bad guy. Bad guys don't bother will all of…this. You're just, you're just frustrated and upset because this city is…this city is such a burden and I know how that feels, I know how it feels to be underestimated…" she droned on, hoping that her words would get to him.

Jack stared at her with something akin to regret. She held her breath. His mouth parted slightly. The knife was dangling from his fingers.

_Come on. Come on. Please._

The burst of laughter tore through her skin. The same gurgling, jarring, high-pitched laughter that seemed to fill her whole body with fear.

"Didn't I tell you not to feed me that horseshit?" he growled, mouth open, teeth bared. "Didn't I tell you?! Didn't I tell you business people are all the same? Are you trying to _negotiate_ with me? Are you trying to get the best deal?"

Penny shut her eyes in frustration.

"No, don't give me that look, Moneypenny! I heard you! I heard you! And probably, in that deluded head of yours you even meant it! I'm sure you're the kind of girl who tries to see the good in everyone around her and I'm sure if you tried really, really hard you could see me as some out-of-luck, misunderstood, sad _little boy_ who just needs a shoulder to cry on. Is that it, Moneypenny? Do you want to be my _friend_?"

Penny shook her head in disgust.

"That's what I thought. And you know how I know? Because no matter how hard you _try_ to see me in a good light, deep down, you know the truth. Sharp, Moneypenny. You're sharp. And you _want_ to see the good, but you only see the bad. It drives you mad how you can't help seeing all the shit and all the dirt this city has to offer. It would be a hell of a lot easier if you could just close your eyes and pretend I'm not here. But you don't. You don't close your eyes. You stare straight at me."

Penny looked down. "I'm not staring."

"I used to stare, too. I used to watch all this glorious decay as it passed me by. But then I stopped staring, and I did something about it," he said, twisting the knife in his hands.

"Now, are _you_ gonna do something about it?"

Penny glared at him.

"Or are you just gonna lie there like a fucking waste of space? Am I gonna have to do all the work?"

He took a step towards her, the knife's edge pointed at her.

"Are you gonna stare when I cut your throat?"

She clenched her fists, feeling the crack of every knuckle.

"Come on! Is the va-le-dic-to-ri-an gonna stay silent?" he edged her on. "Don't you want an A?"

"What should I do, kill a couple of people for sport?" she snapped.

Jack smirked. "Sport! Good one, Moneypenny. Tell me, did you get that tongue from your whore mother or your shit-for-brains father?"

Penny screamed in rage and launched herself at him with all the strength she had left.

Screw him. Screw trying to keep him alive.

Screw everything.

They were going to die anyway.

And no one, _no one_ talked like that about her parents.

The element of surprise was in her favor. He was knocked out by the strength of her attack and he landed, sprawled, on the floor. She was straddling him and her trembling hands wrapped around his neck and squeezed tight.

He still held the knife in his left hand, but she was taking out the air from his lungs. The white paint cracked on his face. She could see her hands becoming green and white and red.

"You want me to do something?!" she shouted. "Here's doing something, motherfucker!"

Jack grinned at her cruelly, his grotesque red scars taunting her. His eyes roamed the naked figure on top of him, relishing the way her body was angled, the swelling of her breasts in her bra, the curve of her bare hips. She could see the clouded lust in his eyes. And a kind of bored disdain, as if he knew she could never go through with it.

That only incensed her more. She wanted him to feel her rage.

"Oh, poor you, you have to live in Gotham and that just breaks your little soul because you're such a special snowflake!" she spat in his face. "Let me play you the world's tiniest violin!"

Jack's grin widened.

"You think you're entitled to just fuck everything up when something doesn't go your way?! You think you have the right to destroy someone's life because yours is going down the drain? Well, guess what, you don't have that fucking right!" she screamed.

Jack angled the knife between them and pointed it at the hollow between her breasts.

"S-Sharp a-as always, M-Moneypenny."

She laughed an empty laugh.

"Yeah, go ahead! Why don't you do us both a favor and end it now, you fucking coward! If I'm gonna die, I'm taking your life with me!"

Jack's whole face lit up with pure joy.

"B-but that's all I-I ever wanted, Mo-"

"Shut up! Shut your mouth!" she yelled over him.

She realized with dismay he was right. This was just switching roles. He was still getting what he wanted. He was still going to die and she was dying with him.

_No. No fucking way. I can't – I need to stop._

But rage was still vibrating through her whole body. It needed a release. And if she couldn't kill him, she was going to make him crumble. She was going to break him.

"You don't get to die yet!" she shouted in his face. "You don't get to do that! I'm not done with you!"

Jack's eyes looked uncertain for a moment. As if he couldn't figure her out. As if he couldn't guess the next step. _What_ was she going to do? What else _could_ she do?

"You wanna know what I think? I think you're pathetic and worthless," she spat, keeping the pressure on his neck, but not squeezing any tighter.

"You're a pathetic little worm who doesn't even have the balls to kill someone without painting their face like a fucking clown!"

Jack's grip on the knife weakened.

"Is that what you do? You spread that shit all over your face and pretend you don't exist?! Well, tough break, dickhead, you _do_ exist and your existence is as pointless as a fucking mask. Nothing, no paint can hide _that._ "

The knife fell down to the floor. She didn't notice.

"You asked me what I'd do? You really wanna know, asshole? Let me show you!" she barked.

With one hand still holding his neck, she placed the other palm over his face and wiped off some of the paint. Then she smeared the red over her own mouth and the white over her own cheeks.

"See this?!" she yelled. "Do you see me?! Do you _see_ me?! I'm not hiding! Because I wouldn't hide! I'd _never_ hide like some goddamn scared piece of shit!"

She kept rubbing the paint on her face, violently, carelessly. She wanted to strip him of all color. That was as close to death she could come without killing him.

Jack stared at her in awe.

"You suddenly realize this is too much and you wanna die? Did poor Jack get in over his head?"

She was bruising her face, but she didn't care. She stretched the paint as far as it could go. Her fingers felt sticky and raw.

"See how I took your precious mask away? See how easy it was?! It's mine now! It was never yours to begin with! You wore it out of _fear_. I'm wearing it because I _can_!"

Her mind was a blank, she kept shouting, but she was not sure if she was making any sense. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

All she knew was that for the first time since she'd stepped into this cursed elevator, she felt powerful. She felt elated. She felt free.

And if she had to be honest, she hadn't felt that way in a long time.

"I did that. I have that power. That was me," she said, spitting his words back into his face.

Tears were rolling down her cheeks now and her breath came out in short puffs, ragged and weary.

Her mother's face. All she could see was her mother's face as she stepped inside that car.

Jack watched her mesmerized. His rough hands roamed over her thighs, her waist, her stomach, touching everything carefully, almost reverently, as he marveled at the way the tears mingled with the paint on her face and created a new color.

"I don't want to die," she said, choking on a sob.

Jack shook his head.

"No, Moneypenny. No."

"I don't want to do this."

"Never, Moneypenny. Never," he spoke in a soothing voice.

"I just want –" she began, but she couldn't continue. Her head was throbbing. Her limbs felt numb. She was growing dizzy. Her rage was gone and so the strength was gone, too. She knew she was close to the end. She felt drained. Like there was nothing left in her.

"– to sleep," she finished, eyelids fluttering shut.

"Yes, Moneypenny. Yes," he whispered in her ear and his voice grew dimmer as the darkness took hold of her.

She blacked out.


	8. Chapter 8

In her dreams, the bats were alive.

They had come off the walls and were flying above her head, their wings flapping in a gentle rhythm. The ceiling was no longer there. It was only wings and black, beady eyes.

She reached out with both arms, wishing they'd lift her up, wishing she could somehow leave her body behind. It was dying, anyway.

But something was holding her back. A weight was dragging her down. And she couldn't move her legs.

Her eyes looked down and she saw his body sprawled on top of hers in the dark. His head lying in her lap, his arms embracing her thighs.

He was still. She couldn't hear his breathing. He looked dead.

But there was warmth radiating from his body and seeping into her own. The scars were caressing her mound and the paint was leaking down into her depths.

She tried to move out of his grasp, but it was like trying to peel off her skin. He seemed to be holding onto her as if she were a raft in the middle of the ocean.

The only way she could fly up is if she took him with her.

So, instead, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

She would rather die than take him with her.

* * *

In the afterlife, she found out, bodies were still being moved around on rolling carts. You couldn't walk, you just had to lie down. She was fine with that.

You weren't naked. You weren't cold, but you weren't warm, either. And you felt pain, because you were pinched with needles and it _hurt_.

Judging by the smell, she surmised she was in some form of hell: urine, iodoform, excrements and blood.

At least she could rest. Thank God, _any_ God, for that.

* * *

"How many fingers do you see?"

Penny shook her head and moaned, turning away from the sound. She knew she was awake now. But she wasn't sure if she was dead or alive and she didn't want to find out.

"Come on, now. I know you can do it," the woman in the white robe beckoned.

Penny wanted to throw up. She lurched forward.

The nurse was ready with a vomit bag at her side.

"It's okay. This is normal. We've been pumping you with fluids and you haven't ingested nutrients in four days. Your body is just trying to get back to normal."

Penny could hear the words but she could not make sense of them. She felt so exhausted. She felt as if she'd always been exhausted.

"Sleep…" she muttered, after the nurse wiped the bile from her mouth.

"Not yet, sweetheart. You've been sleeping for seventy-two hours straight. I need you to stay awake for now."

Penny felt a sudden and uncontrollable bout of hatred towards the woman standing in front of her. Every word coming out of her mouth felt like a punishment. All she wanted was oblivion and she was not allowed to have it.

"Come on, how many fingers?"

Penny growled under her breath and lashed out. She pushed the woman away.

"Leave me alone!" she croaked, grabbing the pillow and trying to throw it at her.

The nurse had to restrain her.

"Easy there, easy there."

But Penny was flailing and thrashing uncontrollably.

"Get out! Get out!" she yelled hoarsely.

In the end she got her oblivion. She was sedated.

* * *

It had felt like an expulsion from the womb. One minute she was being cradled in the terrible intimacy of the warm four walls, the next, she was being cast out into cold space, infinite and free. There had been weight and embrace and now there was weightlessness and loss.

But she would have chosen neither.

She didn't want to be held. She didn't want to be alone.

She only wanted to graduate. Why was that so hard? Why weren't they letting her graduate?

* * *

The next time she woke up, she had a better sense of her surroundings and her mental state. There was no doubt in her mind now that she was alive. She was breathing, she was thinking, she was remembering.

"W-where is he?" she asked.

The nurse – a different nurse – approached her bed and wiped the sweat from her forehead. The touch made her jerk away. She was not ready for it.

"Good morning, dear. You had a rough night. I'm glad you're awake."

"Where is he?" Penny asked, blinking away the mist from her eyes.

She could see the room in its entirety now. White, grey, dull. There could be no darkness here.

"Where is who?"

"Jack. Where is Jack?"

The nurse patted her hands. "Let's see if you can tell me more about yourself first. We'll call Jack later."

_We'll call Jack later._

Penny grimaced. "I don't want to call him. I want to know where he is."

"Is he a good friend?" the nurse asked patiently.

Penny stared at her.

"Isn't he in the hospital?"

"There might be many Jacks in the hospital. I don't know which one is yours."

Penny felt a pang in her chest. Her lungs were suddenly caged and all breath went out of her.

"But he's here, right?"

"We can find him, if you like. Would he be in the waiting room?"

Penny shook her head. "No. He's – he's supposed to be unconscious. Isn't he?"

The nurse stood back.

"Please, tell me!"

"Your blood pressure is rising. That's not good."

"Just find him, okay?! He has to be here! He was with me in the elevator. If they got me out, they got him out too."

The nurse looked baffled.

"Honey, I don't know what –"

"Look, you're wasting time talking to me, you have to find him and you have to restrain him. Don't let him escape. You have to watch him. And then you need to call the police because he's not safe, he's killed people, and I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do!" Penny rambled on, feeling her body grow cold and frightened under the blanket.

The nurse tried to calm her down, growing alarmed herself.

"It's all right, you're safe here, everything is all right, there's no one here who wants to harm you -"

"Let me go! You have to find him! You have to go now! Don't you get it? He's dangerous!" Penny screamed.

"Miss, please, I don't want to sedate you again."

"He might be loose right now! Do you realize what that _means_? It means he'll try to kill again!"

"Please, take a deep breath –"

"Call the police! Call them right now! Call them right now or I will!" Penny yelled spasmodically.

She fell into oblivion again.

* * *

There was talk about moving her into the psychiatric ward.

Every time she woke up, she started screaming about Jack, about what he would do.

She refused to eat, refused to cooperate, refused to talk in full sentences.

She only kept yelling that they needed to find him. Whenever they asked her more about him, she lashed out saying they were wasting time.

No one could calm her down. Not even the police. The hospital had allowed them to see her, but Penny had felt no relief. She hadn't been able to tell them anything. She kept shaking and crying, throwing insults at everyone, calling them stupid and incompetent.

"He's still out there! And you're doing nothing!"

In the end, she was not allowed any visitors.

Not until she recovered.

* * *

Then, slowly, she quieted down.

Waking up now felt like a chore. She was always greeted by a smiling, wary face that tried to coax her into some kind of normal response.

She became indifferent. The anger had washed away and had left her with a sense of pointlessness. As if nothing was real anyway and Jack himself had only been a shadow.

She was safe now. That much was true. But she didn't feel safe. Several years seemed to have passed in the span of hours and whatever had been her life before, it was radically and irrevocably changed now. She had no idea what would happen next or if there _would_ be a next. Worse, she didn't care.

A doctor came and went. He checked her vital signs and tried to cheer her up by telling her how much progress she was making. She was on her way to recovery, with minor injuries left and almost no physical trauma.

"The puncture in your left calf was the most critical injury. Luckily, the wound was shallow. You might have to wear a cast for a couple of weeks due to some minor lesions, but that's the worst of it."

Penny heard him talk about her body like nothing had happened, as if she'd only suffered a normal accident and would get over it, just like everyone else in that building.

They were all so calm, so unaware.

Everything was different now, but everybody was acting the same.

She ate and swallowed the food and took her pills and did as she was told, but inside she was withering.

* * *

She only slept with her knees drawn to her chest and her arms held around her body. She whimpered and cried out in her dreams, but when they asked her why, she couldn't form the words to tell them. She couldn't describe to them the feeling of having a knife toy with your insides, of being crushed, weighed down by a foreign body, of being embraced by a monster.

These things could not be spoken. And that's when she realized the only way she would be able to talk to anyone is if she did not tell them the truth.

* * *

It was afternoon when he walked into her ward.

For the first time since she'd been brought there, Penny felt relief.

His presence was different. His lips were not smiling in that careful, studied manner that betrayed reluctance. His eyes did not show pity for the crazy girl. He did not look wary or anxious that he might accidentally set her off.

He was stern, but gentle, like a father come to talk some sense into his unruly daughter.

And she knew right away that she could finally speak. Because he was not going to judge her and he was going to listen, truly.

She also felt she didn't have to tell him anything at all and he would still know. He would know and he would find Jack.

"Lieutenant James Gordon," he said, extending a hand.

She shook it firmly.

"Penny."

"I know. Miss Penelope Liss. Wayne Industries employee. Graduated from Gotham Business School with top honors."

Blood rushed to her cheeks. Something stirred pleasantly in her chest.

_Graduated from Gotham Business School with top honors._

She felt grateful for his acknowledgement. What she had achieved mattered more to her than who she was right now, and this was the first step to becoming whole again.

Penny cracked a smile.

"At least someone knows."

"We all do, Miss Liss. We've all been waiting for you."

"I know," she looked down in her lap. "I'm sorry I couldn't – before –"

"Don't trouble yourself. It would be strange if you _could_ speak freely about what happened. Few survivors can."

 _Survivor. Not victim. Survivor_ , she told herself.

She found she liked Lieutenant Gordon more and more.

"I suppose I seemed a little insane. Maybe I was. I was expecting everyone to understand and know what I'm talking about without me having to say anything."

The Lieutenant smiled.

"If only it were that easy."

"I never liked easy, anyway," she said and fixed her eyes on him. "Go ahead and ask me what you need to know."

"Well…I'd rather you started from the beginning. My questions are limited to my own perception and the evidence we have so far. I wouldn't like to encourage you to have the same _limited_ view."

"May I ask _you_ some questions first?"

"Certainly."

Penny sat up a bit straighter and leaned forward, as if there was someone else in the room and she didn't want them to hear.

"He wasn't in the elevator when you found me, was he?"

His eyebrows rose to his forehead. He had not expected this to be her first question.

"No. No, he wasn't."

Penny smiled bitterly.

"I –I thought as much. It started making sense afterwards. Why everyone was staring at me like I was crazy. Mind you, I was a bit out of control. But still. I can't blame them. Your colleagues seemed confused, too. They didn't tell me anything about him. Not that I was really listening."

"To be clear, Miss Liss, no one thinks you're insane. You are referring to the man who assaulted you in the elevator of the Bloomherst Complex."

Penny blinked.

"You're the first to actually say it."

He smiled.

"That's because now we know for sure. We are not allowed to make statements we can't back up with solid evidence."

"And you have that now?"

"We have more than that. We have you. It's hardly a mystery to anyone you suffered a trauma. We have managed to form a profile of your assaulter from the evidence we gathered. I'm hoping you'll aid us in catching him."

Penny clenched her fists on her blanket.

"I will try my best."

She knew it was a lie. She knew she could never say some things. She knew the truth would be compromised, inevitably. But she could do nothing about it. She could only hope that was enough.

Gordon nodded. "I know. That's why I'm here."

"How did he escape?"

"Stroke of luck on his part, I'd say. The elevator was pushed down to the fifth floor after a release of pressure. He got out when it reached floor level. We got there too late to catch him."

"I knew you were coming. I'd hoped to keep myself alive until you did."

Gordon smiled.

"And you did. You were very brave and very smart, Miss Liss. That tourniquet saved your life."

Penny furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

"The shirt you tied around your leg."

Penny's heart started beating hard in chest.

"Oh. Yes, that, of course."

Gordon frowned. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

He had saved her life twice. He had saved her life and then he had left her there.

And she realized something more important; if he hadn't let her die, he hadn't killed himself, either.

* * *

The second session with Lieutenant Gordon went by in a much smoother fashion. He brought a police sketcher with him so that they could get an idea from Penny's description of what Jack looked like. She insisted on the scars and made sure the sketcher got them right.

When she saw the final portrait, she flinched, but she didn't turn away.

The image before her held little power. It was only a drawing of a man with lifeless eyes and a still mouth. Nothing could match reality. The vividness of his presence could not be reproduced, thankfully.

"It's – it's fine," was all she said.

She described every item of clothing, every object from his bag, every single thing inside that elevator. This was the easy part, stating facts and describing objects.

Words, actions, behavior – these were a lot harder to express.

When it came to the third grilling, she couldn't avoid them anymore.

It was by far the worst session. Not because Penny didn't cooperate to her utmost abilities, not because Gordon was not satisfied, but because ultimately, many things were left unsaid.

"He said – he said my death should be spectacular and that's when – you know, that's when he sort of dropped the facade and attacked me. He pushed me against the wall and he hit my head hard. Then…"

Gordon, a junior detective and a legal transcriptionist were listening and jotting down everything she said carefully.

She was talking mechanically, describing the bare minimum, the surface of the sea.

"Did he ever abuse you sexually?" the junior detective asked at length.

Penny swallowed. She shook her head.

"No. No, that had nothing to do with it."

Gordon leaned forward. "My colleague here doesn't mean that was necessarily your assaulter's intention. But these attacks do degenerate into abuse."

"Mine didn't," she spoke quickly.

You couldn't tell someone kindness was abuse. You couldn't tell them that Jack's true abuse had been lulling her into a sense of safety and friendship and then pulling the rug from underneath her. She didn't tell them about how he had saved her life. She didn't tell them about how he had walked into her personal space and she had let him, how he had held her waist, how he had cupped one breast, how he had, in the end, placed the knife over her center. These details, all they did was prolong the torture.

"He wanted to kill me and then kill himself too."

 _I know he didn't kill himself_ , is what she left unsaid.

"Were you aware at that point of his crimes?"

"Partially," she replied. "From what he told me, he didn't – he didn't kill many times."

"Yes, he was an amateur," Gordon agreed, "but these tend to be more unpredictable and destructive. He did enough damage."

 _Yes, he did enough damage_ , she thought bitterly.

"Miss Liss, the next question might unsettle you. I would like you to humor us if you could."

Penny nodded.

"You told us Jack would paint his face to hide his identity. You said he derived a kind of thrill from the disguise, correct?"

Penny grimaced. "I suppose that's accurate."

_So many things left unsaid._

"We found traces of paint on your own face when you were brought to hospital. My question is, did he force his disguise on you as well?"

Penny blanched.

"Did he paint you too?"

His eyes, black and cruel, appeared to her in a flash. They were looking at her in awe.

_No._

_No he didn't. I did that. I have that power. That was me._

The memory made her whole body shrink with shame and disgust. She closed her eyes and tried to block it out, feeling the bile rise in her throat.

"Miss Liss?"

In the end, the words came easily.

"He – he tried to. I don't remember much, but he said we should both wear a mask."

"Why do you think he did that?" Gordon asked, weighing each word carefully.

Penny laughed nervously.

"How should I know? Maybe he thought we are alike."

Lieutenant Gordon narrowed his eyes at her, watching her face carefully.

He paused to write something down. Then he cleared his throat and rose from his chair.

"Well, gentlemen, I think that's enough for now."

* * *

The searchlight could barely pierce through the heavy clouds that roiled down Gotham's night sky. Lieutenant Gordon pulled the coat over his shoulders. It was growing chilly atop the police headquarters, despite summertime. The wind was cold and ruthless. Much like the city down below.

He waited patiently because he knew the Bat would always come.

Tonight he felt troubled, though. Not because of what he'd learned, but because of what he _hadn't_. Perhaps the Batman could ease his concerns and help him understand. His advice always proved invaluable.

"What do you have for me tonight?" a haggard voice asked from the dark.

Gordon had been surprised many times to find the Bat was already there when he thought he was alone. Not anymore. He had grown accustomed to his ubiquity.

"I talked to Miss Liss."

"And? You wouldn't have called me just to tell me that."

"She's been of much help…but I fear we've had no sign of him yet. The man has simply disappeared. And the name Jack Napier has yielded few results."

"I haven't gotten hold of him either. Wherever he's hiding, he's outside of Gotham. And he's hiding well," the Bat replied.

"In theory, I know there are bigger fish in this city. I know this one's just another deviant lunatic who pulled a knife on a couple of civilians. And yet, I can't help but think he's different somehow."

"You think he's capable of more."

"I suppose Miss Liss made me wonder."

"That's not at all, is it?"

Gordon sighed.

"She's hiding something. She's hiding many things, actually. Whether it's survivor's guilt or Stockholm's syndrome, I can't be sure. All I know is that man had a huge impact on her. Common criminals don't have this kind of influence."

"I'll be on the lookout. He'll come up eventually. They always do. But we should keep an eye on the girl."

"I'm glad you think so, too. Especially after Harvey Dent pulled that stunt on television."

"You should have known he would use the case for his campaign."

Gordon muttered something under his breath.

"Still, to turn this into political lobbying…"

"Is what everyone would have done," the Bat finished for him. "I know what you fear. But we won't let it happen."

"Ah, I probably sound like an old fool. But the papers and the media are already getting ahead on the case. I've tried to keep them at bay, but you know how these things spread. Harvey already gave them a push, but the story is sensational enough to whet their appetite. Soon, very soon, Penelope Liss will become the young woman who survived an encounter with a serial killer and lived to tell the tale. She'll be in the public eye."

"Let me handle that, Lieutenant."

"How?"

"I have my ways."

* * *

It started quite innocently with one or two reporters asking to speak to Miss Penelope Liss.

When access was denied, they started inventing all sorts of charades, ranging from ridiculous disguises to claiming they are relatives.

The offered money and they promised fame. And more importantly, they were persistent.

But Penny didn't truly become aware of the phenomenon until the day she was released from hospital.

Mrs. Levenstein and her son were helping her settle in his apartment. Everyone thought it was a bad idea for her to return to Bloomherst. They had decided she would be living with her son and his wife for the time being. Penny had tacitly agreed.

She was walking with a small limp now, but the cast would soon come off. Mrs. Levenstein kept her arm around her as they walked down the corridor towards the exit. She was talking in her usual pleasant, matter-of-fact way, trying to lift Penny's spirits with her gossip and the girl smiled wanly and agreed to whatever she was saying, but as she stepped further and further away from her ward, she felt she was leaving a part of herself behind.

It was not leaving hospital that bothered her, it was leaving this experience behind, it was going back into the world and trying to make sense of it again. And knowing that was impossible.

Finally, the doors opened and she was greeted by an explosion of flashes and clicks.

Cameras and filming crews were waiting for her outside the hospital gates.

"Miss Liss! Miss Liss, over here!"

"Miss Liss, would you answer a few questions?"

"Penny! Over here, Penny!"

"Is it true you had to stay in that elevator for more than twenty hours?"

"Miss Liss, is it true the psychopath painted his face like a clown?"

"Penny, how did you manage to stay alive for so long knowing the man was a serial killer?"

"Penelope, what do you think of Harvey Dent's campaign initiative? Will you support the future district attorney?"

"Miss Liss, Mr. Dent has expressed a desire to meet and talk to you in a public forum. Would you be open for an interview?"

"Penny! Penelope!"

They kept shouting from various directions, jabbing their microphones in her face.

The hospital staff and the Levensteins tried to protect her from the incoming crowd of reporters, but there simply were too many and they feared the excitement might be too much for her. But Penny kept a hand over her face and pretended they weren't there. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, but whatever fear she felt had nothing to do with them.

"Penny, do you think he's still out there?"

She turned towards the person who had asked the question and stared at him for a long time.

"Yes," was all she spoke, before turning away.

They didn't get a chance to ask her anything else, because police officers who had been sent to the area pushed them back and allowed the Levensteins to drive Penny away.

Inside the car, Penny exhaled a breath of relief and leaned her head against the window pane.

As they drove past a newsstand, she could see her face plastered on several newspapers. And next to it, the wide and confident grin of Harvey Dent.


	9. Chapter 9

"How are the eggs, Penny?"

Penny took a large bite and smiled encouragingly. Her stomach was churning and she was eating more because she knew she had to, but Caroline Levenstein didn't need to know that.

"Very good, thank you. Although you didn't have to go to this much trouble, I could have sprung up something for myself –"

"Nonsense, please, you're my guest and I want you to feel at home," she said warmly and placed one hand on her shoulder. Penny stiffened. She tried to suppress the flinch that came instinctually. She was getting better at it.

There was no reason to complain. Caroline and Abe Levenstein had been nothing but friendly and supportive. They were strangers to her, but they acted as if they'd known her all her life.

"You've always been kind to my mother. I just want to return the favor," was what Abe had told her when she had moved in.

Penny, however, was counting down the days until she could move out. It wasn't that she didn't like them, but being around people who constantly reminded you of your fragility was not helpful. She would sometimes lose her patience with them.

"I'm going to go take a shower, if you don't mind," she said, getting up.

Caroline rose from her seat as well. "Do you need any help? I'll fetch you some towels."

Penny sighed to herself. It was sort of ironic. She had wished for a family for such a long time and now that she had just that, she was emotionally unavailable.

When she stepped inside the bathroom, she locked the door and paused for several minutes, waiting to see if Caroline or Abe were going to check on her.

Thankfully, they had left her alone.

She turned off the lights. Then she went inside the shower, pulled the glass case closed and turned on the hot water. She waited for a couple of moments for the familiar feeling to set in.

It didn't take long, before she was inside the elevator again.

Nothing had changed.

If she turned around, Jack would be there, leaning against the wall with a funny look on his face, asking her if she was a nice business lady.

He never said anything new.

Sometimes, she would blink and he would literally be in the shower with her. He would stand in the pouring water and she'd watch the paint drip down his face. In the dark, she couldn't see the colors; she only saw black rivers run down his scars. She would touch her own face, thinking it was his. She would press her knuckles into her eyes and count to one hundred.

She did not try to talk to him. Did not scream or act out.

And yet, she reenacted the scene at least twice a week.

Some would have called her masochistic. Others would have simply labeled her insane.

But Penny was neither. She simply wanted answers. She wanted to know _why_. Why her. And revisiting the elevator again and again seemed like the only way to get to the bottom of it.

She'd read somewhere that repeated exposure led to confrontation, which led to recovery. It was better than pretending you could forget and move on. Denial would leave you with unresolved issues.

Pop psychology only got her this far, though.

When she came down to it, she wasn't sure it was recovery she truly wanted.

As the water poured down her shoulders, she thought about the Levensteins.

They had been very kind, that was true, but it couldn't be said they weren't enjoying the media attention. Reporters and journalists haunted their street from dawn to dusk and cameras could be seen peeking out at every corner. The neighborhood was in a fit of excitement. Everyone wanted to talk to the Levensteins, to meet them, to be part of their circle.

Luckily for her, Lieutenant Gordon had provided police protection. No busybody could get inside the apartment building without a police guard's approval. Not only that, but a patrol squad was always making rounds in the nearing neighborhoods, on the lookout for Jack's reappearance. The detectives who were on the case believed he might come back for her, to finish what he had started. They never said it, because it didn't need to be said. It was common criminal behavior.

Penny knew they were wrong. Jack had let her live. He had even kept her alive. Which meant he was keeping himself alive, too. He was not going to attempt anything _now_. She couldn't tell them, though. It would only make her sound unhinged.

As for the future, Penny didn't want to know what it would bring. Because, perhaps, there _was_ death in her near future. And if that was so, there was no _point_ in thinking about the future altogether.

And, impossibly, this gave her a sense of relief. For once in her life, she didn't have to think about the next step. She didn't have to plan, or analyze, or draw a pros and cons list. She didn't have to do so much work to mould her life, because there was nothing to mould now.

Anxiety, panic, dread, they all seemed to vanish when you didn't have a perspective. You were just stuck in limbo and that was fine.

Hot drops fell on her back violently, growing colder and colder as they reached her arms and legs. At first she thought it was an impression, but gradually, she realized the water was no longer warm.

She fumbled in the dark until she found the lever. She turned the water off.

But something cold was still running down her back.

When she placed a hand to her skin she felt the slick, sticky consistency of paint.

A ghost of breath on her nape. A heavy presence behind her, watching, staring, not touching. Letting her know it would always be there.

She slid the glass case and jumped out of the shower, almost slipping on the steamy tile floor. She kept touching her back, trying to see if the paint was still there.

The presence was behind her, everywhere she turned, no matter how fast she moved. He was in this bathroom. He was everywhere. A multitude of Jacks.

Caroline knocked on the bathroom door.

"Penny? You all right in there?"

"Uh…yeah, everything's fine, I just… dropped the soap," she managed to say, grabbing the sink's edge with both hands.

When she turned the light back on, she didn't even look at her back. She knew there was no paint.

* * *

"Transfer?"

Of all the things she had expected to hear from Ryan, this was not one of them.

They were sitting in the Levensteins' sitting area and Ryan, for once, looked completely sober. He was no longer trying to be the funny, charming guy.

She suspected he was worried that he might set her off. The thought amused her, partially.

"What do you mean, transfer?"

Somehow this did not sound like a gentle way of saying she was getting sacked.

Penny hadn't even fathomed that she'd be allowed to continue at Wayne Enterprises. She knew the old saying that no publicity is bad publicity, but she also knew she'd missed more than a month's work and her disputable mental state would give the firm a shaky reputation, if they still considered her an official employee.

What a large company usually did in such cases was donate a monthly or annual amount of money to pay for certain amenities. Or they wrote you a splendid recommendation that turned out to be useless when no one would hire you.

"I mean transfer to another division," Ryan supplied, smiling nervously. "Seems like we'll be parting ways."

"Which division?"

"Uh, Applied Sciences, I believe. They'll probably get in touch with you soon."

Penny was even more confused than before.

"But what would I do there…? That division is mostly research and prototype testing. Not exactly my field."

"Suppose you'll be doing what you did with us. Don't tell me hard industries _was_ your field," he replied with a hint of the old humor in his voice.

Penny half-smiled. "I don't understand why they're doing this."

"They're offering you a solid job," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "which is what they're supposed to do when one of their employees goes through – goes through something like this. Not turn them away."

"Even a temp?" she asked, turning the idea over in her head.

"Well – of course, they don't just consider your previous position in the firm. They also take into account your performance rate and yours ranked high among the trial staff–" Ryan sputtered, trying to come up with a good enough explanation.

"Sarah Wilson's twins died in that boating accident last year and I didn't see her getting the benefit of the doubt. After she stopped showing up, they just let her go," Penny said, looking down at her untouched mug of tea. "Her performance rate ranked high, too."

Ryan blushed, fingering his tie clumsily.

"Sarah Wilson was different."

Penny winced. "I appreciate what you're trying to say, Ryan, but if this is a pity job, Wayne Enterprises has chosen an odd time to feel guilty."

Ryan opened his mouth, then closed it again, when he realized he had nothing to say to that.

"But…you will take it, won't you?" he asked at length, watching her carefully.

Penny smiled a bitter smile.

"I don't know, Ryan. The future is…up in the air right now."

 _You mean no future_ , a comforting voice whispered in her ear.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry – I know this is the last thing on your mind right now," Ryan chimed in quickly, "I can't imagine how hard it must be for you with all that's happened and here I am, talking about work, I probably sound pretty stupid."

"No, it's fine, really. Relax. I'm not bothered. I just can't give you an answer right now."

Ryan nodded vigorously and extended his hand towards hers.

"I'm here for you."

His palm covered her knuckles, caressing her skin. Penny flinched and pulled her fingers out of his grasp. Ryan's eyes widened.

"Is it – do I make you uncomfortable? How can I help? How can I make you feel better?" he asked, looking at her with puppy-dog eyes.

She sighed. People around her nowadays split into two categories: those who waited on her, hand and foot, and those who waited for her to talk, preferably about the engimatic clown murderer.

"You can help by finding out why I'm being transferred," she said, trying to smile.

Ryan brightened, happy to be given a task he could actually perform.

"I'll try to get to the bottom of it. But I don't think you should be worried. They probably think a change will do you good. That's all."

Penny raised an eyebrow at him, but Ryan preferred to believe this rather than face facts. She wondered if he _would_ actually find anything.

"You know, you're already getting back to normal. Old Penny Liss would be paranoid and worried about this, too. I can picture it already."

Penny wanted to tell him there was no "new" or "old" Penny Liss. There never had been. What she was now was even more difficult to define. But she stayed quiet.

"Maybe – maybe you're overreacting a little. I mean your suspicions? They might be because of – well, _you know_. Your sense of trust has been compromised."

_No shit, Ryan._

"I'd still like you to look into it, if you could," she said, wondering what would be a polite way of telling him she was tired of this conversation already.

"Listen, Penny," he said, leaning his body towards her, "I know I seem like a regular airhead sometimes, but I want you to know I take this _very_ seriously and you can talk to me anytime about _anything_. I won't judge. I won't even say a word. I just want to listen. I don't know if you have a friend to talk to right now, but I bet you need one. It can't be easy, keeping all of that inside."

Penny narrowed her eyes at him.

It seemed Ryan fit into both categories; he wanted to help, but he also wanted _her_ to help _him_.

"Thanks, I appreciate the thought," she replied curtly.

"I mean it," he added, punctuating his words. "My ears are open, but my lips are sealed."

Penny got up from her chair.

"Don't worry. When I feel like talking, you're the first person I'll call."

Ryan beamed at her.

She wondered how much he'd tell the reporters outside.

* * *

James Gordon couldn't help it. He had assured her this was an unofficial meeting, that he would not be doing any detective or police work while they were sharing this cup of coffee, but old Lieutenant Gordon kept rearing his ugly head whether he liked it or not.

He registered every movement, every look, every change of expression. And he tried to understand the meaning behind it. Then he tried to forget it.

Penny found it amusing. His inner conflict was quite obvious.

She put down her cup and placed both hands on the table, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else. It felt so strange whenever she walked out of the Levensteins' apartment into the real world. It was like entering a different atmosphere.

"And how have you been keeping busy?" Gordon asked, trying to avoid looking at her face.

"Oh, you know, sleeping, eating, sleeping again. It's kind of a vacation, actually," she joked.

Gordon chuckled. "I should take one too. It sounds a lot more fun than doing paper work."

Penny stirred the teaspoon inside the cup absent-mindedly.

"I mostly think," she said at length. "That's what I do all day. Just think."

"Oh. Thinking's overrated, you know," he said. "I used to think too much, too. I wouldn't get anything done. I'd always stop and mull it over until I convinced myself it was not worth doing at all."

Penny winced. "How did you fix that?"

"Well, I was lucky someone told me what a pompous asshole I'd become."

Penny didn't even notice she was laughing until she heard it come out of her throat. She realized how good it felt to actually laugh again. She smiled in gratitude.

"So, hobbies are off the table. How about work? Any new prospects?" he asked, innocently.

Penny raised an eyebrow.

"What? Valedictorians don't usually have so much free time."

She sighed. "You're well informed, as always."

"It's not what I know that matters. It's what I don't. For example, I don't know how you feel about this."

Penny shrugged. "How am I supposed to feel, Lieutenant?"

Gordon raised a finger and shook his head. "Now, now. We had a deal. No policing."

She rolled her eyes. "Too late for that, wouldn't you say?"

Gordon smiled. "I'll give you that. But my intentions are a different thing entirely. I'm not worried you won't do well. I'm worried you'll turn out like me; too much thinking and not enough doing."

Penny nodded her head. "I understand your concerns." She knew full well how frustrated he felt about not having yet caught Jack. She never brought it up, though. She knew it was hard for him.

"I can think about it less, if that's what you want me to do. In fact, I won't think about it at all," she said, with a smug smile.

Gordon shook his head and smiled back. "You're too clever for your own good, Miss Liss."

* * *

Abe and Caroline didn't know it, but she slept with a knife under her pillow. She had nicked it from the kitchen drawer when they weren't looking. It was small and blunt, hardly a real weapon. But it gave her a sense of safety at night, when darkness brought on the panic attacks. Maybe the future didn't worry her anymore, but that didn't mean the present wasn't weighing on her fully.

She always woke up in the dead of the night, in a pool of her own sweat, head spinning with half-forgotten nightmares. Knowing the knife was there gave her comfort. If someone came at her, she wouldn't be defenseless. Mostly though, it felt good to grip something solid.

* * *

The calls came and went unanswered, each time. Abe was gently trying to coax her into taking them.

"I know it doesn't feel like the right time, but you could at least hear him out. I'm sure he's not insensitive to your condition. He seems like an insightful man. And you know, he's running for a job no one really wants in this city."

 _More reason to distrust him_ , Penny thought.

Truthfully, she didn't think ill of Harvey Dent. She didn't _know_ Harvey Dent well enough to form any judgments. But his ambition had unsettled her. Perhaps because it felt familiar.

She knew why Abe was trying to persuade her to talk to Dent. He thought the future District Attorney would open many doors for her and such an opportunity should not be missed. Especially when she was not going to hold the public's sympathy for long and the media would eventually get bored of her case.

Two months ago, Penny would have agreed.

* * *

One thing she had appreciated about Caroline Levenstein from the beginning was how quickly the woman had understood the need to remove all makeup from visible sight.

Penny had not needed to explain herself. The first night she had arrived at their apartment, she had hurled the entire contents of her dinner after seeing Caroline's makeup brush in the bathroom, still tinted red at the edges.

After that, she had not seen a single smear of it anywhere. No brush, no foundation, no blush, no mascara, no concealer, no products whatsoever.

Caroline kept them locked under key and always applied makeup directly at work, taking it off as soon as she stepped through the door.

It was a sacrifice Penny couldn't begin to thank her for.

It was one of the reasons she could bear her sanctimonious attitude without lashing out.

And it was one of the reasons why she knew she hadn't been the one to leave that lipstick on her nightstand.

Penny kept her eyes shut for several seconds. She opened them again.

It was still there, small and silver, like a bullet waiting to put a hole in her.

She had woken up from one of her many nightmares to find another nightmare, just inches away from her hand.

Penny knew she could yell or call or say anything and Caroline would wake up and come to her. The Levensteins slept in the adjacent room and the walls were thin.

But she didn't say anything at all.

She slid her hand under her pillow and grabbed the knife.

He was here.

He was inside this apartment right now.

She had no doubt about that.

Her heart had stopped beating.

_It's too soon. It's too soon. He can't -_

But couldn't he? Why had she thought he would wait? Why had she thought he would stay away?

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Scolding herself wouldn't help matters now.

If he was in the Levensteins' home, she had to protect them. She owed them at least that.

Slowly, she got out of bed and, holding the knife before her, grabbed the lipstick with her other hand.

She took a couple of steps towards the door.

What if he was on the other side?

She froze. She could hear her own teeth chattering. And nothing else. The whole house was quiet. Even the street noises had been muted.

Holding her breath, she pushed the door to her bedroom open.

She was greeted by a deeper darkness in the hallway. She could make out no figures.

If she turned on the lights, he would know she was awake, and the Levensteins would, too. And then what?

 _No. He wanted me to wake up_ , she thought, fingering the lipstick.

She started walking towards the living room, making sure her steps were light.

Could she get to a phone and call the police? Doubtful.

 _Is it going to happen tonight?_ she thought, feeling every inch of her skin going cold.

She wished he would come out already and end her misery.

But the shadows were closed off and she could see no one.

He was taunting her, making himself invisible, only to appear behind her and scare her to death.

She went through the empty rooms inside the house, one by one.

Every time she felt someone behind her, she turned and waved the knife chaotically in front of her, only to find air.

Penny thought about the way Jack had filled up every space these past two months. A multitude of Jacks in every room.

Was it real now? Was he everywhere…and _nowhere_?

Absurdly, it was his absence that terrified her now.

He had left his mark. So where was he?

Of course, there was one room she hadn't checked. The bathroom.

Penny steeled herself for the worst. She dropped the knife to the floor. It wouldn't help her now, anyway. She could barely hold it straight without shaking.

Closing her eyes, she turned the knob on the door.

A faint breeze, like a whisper, rustled the hems of her nightgown. She was looking at compact darkness.

The hardest part now was stepping inside.

Something was pulling her in, though. She felt drawn to the place by an unknown force. And it was useless trying to fight it.

The door gently swung shut behind her as she stepped on the cold tile floor.

She didn't know whether it was a draft or a hand that had pulled it.

She stood in the middle of the bathroom, waiting.

"Jack?" she whispered, her voice barely a sound.

She swore she could hear him breathing. It was the kind of ragged breath one got after running. It was her own breath. Her eyes were growing used to the darkness. She could now see the outlines of the shower case. And if she focused hard, she could probably see him inside.

But when she parted the glass slide, there was no one.

The elevator was empty. They hadn't found him inside. He had left her there.

Penny felt herself growing dizzy. She had to lean against the sink for support.

Her fingers were aching. She realized she had been gripping the lipstick too tight.

_The lipstick._

Penny exhaled shakily. Maybe the answer was in her hand.

"You gave me the lipstick. You want me to use it, don't you?" she asked the darkness.

It did not reply.

But she suddenly had a purpose.

Penny knew the mirror was behind her. Another Jack in disguise.

She turned and was met with a pair of white eyes staring back at her.

Her own.

She could make out the reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks, her nose, her lips. All her.

She stood in front of that reflection, holding the lipstick in one hand and gripping the edge of the sink with the other.

Her fingers slowly pushed the lid off.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

The question rang hollow. The knot in her throat knew the truth. The hole in her stomach held the answer.

"Do you want me to – do you want me to wear it again? Wear your face?"

A terror far worse than anything she'd ever felt before gripped her as she brought the lipstick to her lips.

Because, even more than Jack, she realized she feared what she had become during those moments of insanity, when she had abandoned all restraint.

Jack alone was fear. Jack _and_ Penny were terror.

Her trembling fingers paused over her lips.

She turned her head and looked at the shower case again, hoping he might appear to stop her.

But he wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere.

He wasn't going to walk into this bathroom like he had walked into Bloomherst, he wasn't going to step inside the shower, like he had stepped inside the elevator and he wasn't going to hold the door open for her –

Penny blinked.

He had held the door open for her.

She lowered her hand.

The doors had been about to close, but he had put a hand between them to keep them open for her.

_"You got on this elevator, see? You got in with_ _me_ _. And you_ _really_ _shouldn't have done that. Not_ _today_ _of all days. But I didn't stop you."_

No, he hadn't stopped her. In fact, he had made sure she would get in.

Penny clenched her fist around the lipstick.

It had never been her fault. It had never been an accident. He had _chosen_ to do this. He had _chosen_ her. He had known he wanted to die when he got on that elevator. He could have let the doors close. He could have gone up alone.

But he hadn't.

In that second before the doors had closed, he had made a choice. He had decided she would die with him. He had sentenced her to death.

It had always been his fault.

Penny released a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

Then, carefully, she walked up to the light switch and turned the lights on.

Her eyes watered from the brightness.

She didn't look around to see if there was anyone in the bathroom with her. She knew there wasn't.

Instead, she walked to the mirror again and, holding the lipstick to her mouth, she calmly applied the color to her lips. She colored them perfectly, not going over the edges, not pressing too hard.

When she was done, she looked at the reflection in the mirror.

Her mouth looked perfect.

* * *

When Harvey Dent's representatives called again a few days later, she answered. She talked to his personal assistant to establish a proper meeting at his campaign offices.

"And you are sure you'd like to get involved right away?" the woman at the other end asked.

"I am actually looking forward to it. I'd like to support our future District Attorney," she replied evenly.

The woman paused.

"Very well, then."

Penny wrote down the date and time of her meeting. A car would be sent over to pick her up. There would also be an escort. Everything strictly private, of course. Did she require any special treatment, did she have any requests?

No, none at all.

"We shall see you on Wednesday, then."

And like that, Penny had made sure she wouldn't drop from Dent's radar.

Because even though the future was still a question mark, the present was a clear full stop. And she would make the most of this stop.

She had worked too hard to look back and had succeeded too little to look ahead.

She would no longer hide inside buildings. That had almost got her killed.

No, she would get out. She would get out in the public eye. Right where Jack would find it harder to strike.


	10. Chapter 10

_One month later_

Penny tapped her index finger on the page nervously. The words kept getting jumbled together, arranging themselves into strange patterns on the immaculate white paper. She could not stop their movement. Her head was pounding. She tried to recall if she had taken her pills that morning.

"You've been quiet, Miss Liss. Anything to add to the speech? Or do you think we're good to go on that?"

Penny looked up. In private, he called her Miss Liss and his tone was always calm and sober.

In public, however, she was always "my good friend, Penny" and he affected a cheerful, exuberant persona that had nearly shocked her, at first.

Now, she was more or less accustomed to the shift in tonality. And, despite appearances, Harvey Dent seemed genuine in his act. He might have been more calculated and reserved than he let on, but when he talked about his future plans for Gotham and how he would "turn this city around", you could see the soft glow of pure ambition in his eyes.

"Well…" she started, trying to dispel the confusion from her head. "We could probably skip the line about "the powerlessness of the citizens in my predecessor's era". It's a bit gauche to imply the people ever _were_ powerless. They will feel offended. I think they expect to be flattered, Mr. Dent."

Harvey smiled broadly.

"I don't mince my words, I suppose. But duly noted."

"Speaking of which…Salvatore Maroni?"

"Yes?" he asked, defiantly. "What about that?"

"Are you sure you want to make that promise now?"

"What do you mean, Miss Liss? Of course I –"

"I know you have every intention of putting him behind bars as soon as possible, but perhaps it's not wise to tell the people it's as good as done."

 _Just like it's not wise to assure me every single day Jack is as good as caught,_ she thought, biting her tongue.

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "You don't think I will be able to."

Penny shook her head, clenching her hands into fists. Her fingers were shaking slightly. She ought to have taken her pills. It was unlike her to forget something like that.

"I do not doubt your capabilities, but Maroni had a predecessor too and he managed to eschew legal incarceration for a long time," she said, referring to Arkham Asylum resident and former crime boss, Carmine Falcone.

Harvey's face darkened at the allusion. He knew there was another name that had remained unspoken. Penny averted her gaze almost apologetically.

Carl Finch, ex-District Attorney, _his_ predecessor, currently dead. Killed by one of Falcone's. He did not need to be reminded.

Harvey shook off the ghosts of the past. He liked to live in the present.

"I understand your concern. I do. But that was then, this is now. Things have changed for the better. Carmine is out. We got him. Which means these guys can't stay at the top forever. We just have to outsmart them. The goal is to stop letting this irrational fear dominate every–"

"You might want to save that kind of rhetoric for the forum. As it is, I believe Miss Liss has already grasped your philosophy from the many Q&A sessions you've already afforded her."

Penny turned in her seat to find Harvey Dent's campaign manager standing in the doorway, glaring daggers at her.

Michael Stratton had surely changed his tune.

It was ironic, really. It had been _his_ idea to use the "elevator case" for Harvey's campaign. He had argued that Bloomherst was the ideal place to start talking about Gotham's recent decay into poverty and crime. What made it perfect was that it was neither the best nor the worst neighborhood in the city; it was bad enough that it spurred concern, but not past the point of salvation; it could be redeemed. And that was a powerful slogan for a campaign. "Harvey Dent can redeem the past."

Penny Liss was only supposed to be a symbol of that; a figure the people could latch onto, because she was an attractive young woman who had survived an attempt on her life and she represented the common man's heroic resistance to crime and corruption.

But in the past month, she had become more of a nuisance than an advantage. He had not predicted that she would have a _stance_. She began talking to Harvey, advising him and exchanging opinions with him as if _she_ were the campaign manager.

And worse, Harvey listened to her suggestions.

Stratton could not conceal his frustration whenever she made an unnecessary remark or commented on some policy or another. His only comfort was that the campaign would be over soon and she would fade back into obscurity. Even if the people seemed to like her now, once Harvey was D.A. and she was removed from the stage, Gotham would gradually forget her and her salacious story.

"I'm very grateful for Mr. Dent's willingness to share his thoughts," Penny replied, facing him directly. "I was merely suggesting that, if he wishes to separate himself from his predecessor, he should not make risky promises, like he did."

"Risks are unavoidable in our field of work, Miss Liss," Stratton retorted, walking into the office and standing before her at his full height.

Penny suppressed a smile. He was trying to intimidate her.

"The forum will start in half an hour," Stratton said impatiently, turning to Harvey. "We should get ready."

* * *

"… because we are the common victims, the people left behind to fend for themselves, and we find our own way out of these prisons, be it through education, hard work, honesty or even a simple gesture of kindness. And I stand here before you once again because I was silent and I found no answer, no virtue or wisdom in that silence. So I decided to speak because victims are not given the luxury of words. It is their assailants, their abusers, who do the talking and capture the collective imagination. This misguided attention is what fuels them, what drives them on, so to speak. Let us focus on the victims and their stories. And if we must discuss the abuser, let us only talk in plain, honest words and let us not turn him into an archetype, a fable or a legend. It does not take great courage, spirit of mind or genius to threaten, harm or inflict pain on someone. Sometimes it only takes a whim. A push. A good man can become a bad one if he is having a rough day. What makes him good, in the end, is how he redeems himself after he has damaged something. Harvey Dent proposes something similar, he proposes redemption. But not just redemption of the individual, but of the entire city. Of course, that starts with each and every person in this room. That is why Mr. Dent gave me a voice, for which I am very grateful. So I ask you to listen not because you pity me or feel sorry for me, but because you deserve to know the truth, you deserve to know that the abuser has no power over you. As long as you keep your voice."

The audience was giving her a standing ovation, waving their Harvey Dent flags up in the air. Only some elderly people in the front row were still seated, but they clapped loudly, tears smarting in their eyes.

Harvey watched her step down from the podium with a guarded expression on her face. She looked both terrified and pleased, as if she had just passed a difficult examination and she had proven herself worthy.

He smiled to himself. When she opened her mouth in front of a crowd, she cast a spell.

It was curious, because she was not very charismatic. She did not have an easy smile and her voice was slightly high-pitched and severe. Her face was unreadable. She looked stern, but trustworthy. She didn't seem the friendly type. But when she talked, she could persuade you that she was.

With people in his field of work, it wasn't what you said, but how you said it.

Penny Liss operated in the exact opposite. It was the words that saved her and made people like her.

"That was one hell of a speech," he muttered to Michael Stratton, who could only sniff and nod grimly, because he had, as of yet, no words of dissention.

 _Penelope Liss, you are my ticket to victory_ , Harvey thought, patting her on the shoulder briefly as she passed him on her way to her seat. She acknowledged it with a small smile.

 _I hope I don't disappoint you_ , he told himself, watching her from afar. Then he turned to the crowd in front of him. _I know_ _ **you**_ _will be disappointed with me, one way or another._

And not for the first time, he felt a sense of uselessness in the entire campaign. He felt a terrible pointlessness in every action he had undertaken so far. Because he was drawing nearer and nearer to a successful outcome and he knew that after the first days of euphoria passed, he would be faced with the grim reality of an unchangeable and unmanageable city. A city he loved, but dreaded.

He smiled broadly.

"Whew, who can follow that?" he spoke into the mike, lifting a shoulder in a self-deprecating manner. The audience chuckled.

"I know I can't, but I will do my best. Because I think you'll agree with me when I say Miss Liss deserves _my_ efforts and _yours_ to turn this city into the kind of place where every voice is heard and no faceless bully, hiding behind your hard-earned tax money, can silence it or make it go away…"

As he turned towards his staff, he noticed a woman approaching one of the empty chairs. She strutted to the front in a confident manner, pulling back a strand of hair behind her ear before she winked at Harvey. He suppressed a smirk. She was there for him.

* * *

Rachel Dawes sat down next to Penny and let out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks for saving me a seat. I had to run all the way here from Robbinsville."

Penny arched an eyebrow. "That _is_ far off."

"Some clients want the mountain to come to Mohammed," Rachel joked, whipping out her phone to take some photos of Harvey.

"I'm sure even Mohammed wasn't that fussy."

Rachel chuckled. "He hasn't lived in Gotham."

"I'm sorry I missed so much of it already," she added, nodding towards the stage. "Big show-up today."

"Yes. I'm a bit worried about the care packages. I don't think we have enough bags for everyone."

Rachel shook her head, smiling in that comforting manner Penny found irresistible. Any person could see why Harvey was so fond of her.

"You worry too much. Let Stratton worry about that. You should not have to do his job."

"I don't mind. I would mind it less if he stopped haranguing me all the time," Penny muttered scathingly.

Rachel smirked. "So, harangue him back."

Penny sighed. "I try. But he's impervious to criticism."

"Don't worry, three more months to go and then we're off the hook. To be honest, I'm looking forward to it. Everyone's on edge right now."

Penny did not reply. She had taken out her agenda and was busying herself with it, jotting down words at random, trying to steady her erratic heartbeat. Whenever the future was brought into discussion, her reaction was the same. Today it was worse because she had not taken her pills.

_Three months from now…Three months from now…_

"Hey, are you alright?"

Penny looked up from her agenda and nodded quickly.

"Just updating my schedule."

Rachel frowned. "It's just – your hands are shaking. Are you sure you're okay?"

Penny clenched her fingers together. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm only a bit lightheaded, that's all."

Rachel seemed unconvinced.

"I can send for the car to take you home, if you like. You don't have to stay till the end, I mean you've already –"

"Rachel, I'm _fine_. Really. If I weren't, you'd be the first person to know."

Rachel frowned. "Okay, but don't hesitate."

Looking back, Penny realized her friendship with Rachel had been a happy accident. She hadn't expected for them to like each other so quickly and they probably wouldn't have if Rachel hadn't burst into Harvey's office one day angrily to find Penny there instead of her fiancé. And Penny, not knowing who she was, had asked her in a clipped tone if she had a meeting with "Mr. Dent". Rachel had stood there for a second before bursting into laughter. From thereon, they just clicked.

As of late though, Rachel was beginning to act more like the concerned mother. She had warned her, jokingly:

"I'm sorry, but I get like that with my friends. I feel like taking care of them. I'm still looking after Bruce and he's well past that point."

Penny still couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that Rachel Dawes and Bruce Wayne were childhood friends. What were the odds?

But Bruce Wayne was a millionaire with control issues and a destructive penchant – if you believed the tabloids – and maybe he needed guidance on how to run a multinational corporation and balance his private life with his public one, but her?

She didn't need help. She just needed some time. That's what she liked to believe, at least.

"How are things with Joan?"

Penny shrugged. "I'm seeing her tomorrow. It's going well, I think."

"She's very efficient, isn't she? I'm glad you're getting on with her."

Penny grimaced. Maybe getting on was not the perfect phrase to describe her relationship with her therapist. The fact that it was mandatory didn't help.

"What's with that face? Don't tell me you don't like her."

"I _do_. It's not her. I'll get used to it."

"Get used to what?" Rachel asked, raising a brow.

"Being treated like a patient."

Rachel bit her tongue. Penny knew she was about to say "but you _are_ a patient". She didn't hold it against her. By all standards, she could be classified as a patient.

Just not _her_ standards.

"I'll give you a hand with the care packages if you promise not to mind my future ramblings on the topic," Rachel offered with same contagious smile on her face.

Penny smirked. "Deal."

* * *

"And after your grandparents, one of your cousins took you in for two years?"

Penny leaned back in her chair and folded her arms defensively.

"Is this stuff really relevant? I don't mind talking about it, but it seems like a waste of time."

Joan remained impassive. "If you don't mind talking, what's the harm in it?"

"I just don't like wasting time."

"Let _me_ decide if it's a waste of time."

"Well, I want to be in charge of these sessions too," she argued.

Joan nodded. "All right. Would not talking about it give you more control?"

Penny sighed, trying to figure out how to make the time pass faster. She decided, at length, to talk.

"Yeah, my cousin took me in when I was 13. Then, when I turned 16, I had to move in with my godfather because that cousin moved to San Francisco. The rest is easy to deduce."

"So, you had to make a home for yourself three times in less than a decade. Do you feel you've gained or lost something from the experience?"

Penny suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "I don't see how that's of any use to anyone. I don't even remember how I felt at 13. I am here because I am suffering from PTSD and anxiety and a heightened mixture of both. I think we can skip the childhood thing already. Please."

Joan crossed her fingers and lowered her eyes apologetically.

"Very well. Let me put it this way then. Have you ever felt something similar to this in your life before? The same kind of anxiety and fear? Maybe in your youth?"

"You mean have I gotten stabbed and beaten in an enclosed space by a maniac before? No, I guess I missed that afterschool special."

Joan chuckled. "I like you, Penny."

"…oh?"

"I do. You have a bite to you. Something tells me you'll either be fine on your own, or you'll tear yourself apart. I hope it's the former."

"I know I'm difficult –"

"Not at all. The only thing difficult here is finding a question you won't turn into a witty backlash. How about the pills? Have you taken your anxiety medication regularly?"

Penny felt a sudden bout of nausea at the thought of the empty pill bottle standing on the shelf in her bathroom cabinet.

"Yes."

"You hesitated a little."

"I forgot – once or twice. A couple of times."

"It's unlike you to forget these things."

"I know, that's why I mentioned it happens so rarely."

Joan smiled. "I know stressful days are coming up with the rallies and more campaign meetings. It's never bad to have a plan B."

Penny shrugged, clenching and unclenching her fingers.

"I guess I am a bit wary about public appearances, especially televised ones."

"How would you feel if you were interviewed on your own, without Mr. Dent and his staff?" Joan suddenly asked, leaning forward like the fox that had caught the rabbit in its trap.

But Penny only shrugged and looked at the photos on Joan's desk as if she suddenly found them interesting.

"I'd feel special," she lied.

* * *

The first thing she always did after she shut the door to her newly rented apartment was to leave it unlocked; she needed a convenient exit in case there was someone inside. The next thing she did was to stretch her hand and reach for the baseball bat she kept behind the door. It was perhaps a ridiculous weapon, but she couldn't very well go all the way to the kitchen for a knife without something to protect her.

She would turn on the light and step inside cautiously. She wouldn't call out, because that would only alert the neighbors. No, what she did was simple and almost mundane. She would patiently search every nook and cranny of her apartment, armed with her bat and a steely resolution not to shout, should there be anyone inside. After she had satisfied her curiosity, she would lock the door, put the bat back in its place and go into the kitchen to make herself something to eat. On this occasion, she also checked whether her big kitchen knife was still where she had last put it.

This routine, though humiliating, was necessary to her sanity. Dr. Joan Rimsy had even encouraged it. She had been almost delighted to hear how much control Penny already exercised over her day-to-day life.

 _You'll either be fine on your own, or you'll tear yourself apart_ , she had said.

Penny liked to think that both could happen in the same day.

She had just sat down at her kitchen counter after suffering through her daily ritual, when her eyes landed on a thick envelope lying on the coffee table in the small living area adjoining the kitchen.

For a bleak and terrifying moment, she thought her routine had failed her. There _was_ someone inside her apartment, or at least there _had_ been. And they had left something behind. The realization paralyzed her.

She waited with bated breath for her body to be able to move again.

When it was, she reached out slowly for the trusty kitchen knife and gripped it between her fingers, taking comfort in its familiar weight. Knowing that prolonging the moment would only make it worse, she jumped from her seat and dashed towards the envelope, like a hungry cat, running towards the milk bowl.

She snatched it from the coffee table and, with the knife poised at its entrance she tore into it, ripping it into shreds in mere moments. The violence of the act did not diminish the pure satisfaction she derived from having destroyed the intruder. Limp pieces of paper were scattered all around the floor.

Only when her eyes landed on the few words that had survived on some stranded page corner did she realize she herself had brought this envelope inside her home a week before.

_Wayne Enterprises, Division: Applied Sciences._

Penny sat down on the sofa, making sure not to step on the pieces of paper. She placed the knife on the coffee table and put her head in her hands. She did not make a sound. She only sat there for several minutes, trying to absorb or erase what she had done.

At length, she sighed and stretched her head back, staring at the ceiling.

When the emails hadn't worked, Wayne Enterprises had resorted to the printed word.

She had not exactly rejected the job position, but she had not confirmed her acceptance either. Everything had been left in a kind of reckless suspension. She had asked for a sabbatical while she worked for Harvey's campaign and sorted out some of the expected health issues.

Sensible of her condition, Wayne Enterprises had duly allowed her as much time as she needed. Their only demand had been that she let them know when she would be ready to start working again. She had never suspected that, one month later, they would actually send her letters.

Penny swallowed the bile that was threatening to rise in her throat.

Maybe she should just say _no_.

Rachel and Harvey had promised to help her find something sustainable, just in case.

Was this what she had become, then? A beggar? Another one of those miserable leeches, orphaned by society, constantly demanding assistance? Had she become her story?

"I've always depended on the kindness of strangers," the saying went.

But she couldn't let herself say _no_ , just yet. Wayne Enterprises was offering her a pity job, too. But at least she had earned that. At least she could prove she deserved to be there.

Elsewhere…

Elsewhere, she knew she was elbowing her way in, just like she had elbowed her way into Harvey's campaign. It was true he had lured her – one might say, even obligated her to act – but she had managed to stay there and make herself a kind of necessity by sheer force of will.

Perhaps, she hadn't said _no_ yet, because her ambition, this dreadful, wonderful ambition, kept pushing her to stay afloat. It kept up the illusion that she could return to Wayne Enterprises _and_ make something out of this campaign.

The drive to succeed was the one thing that would never disappear.

Just for good measure, though, Penny checked her entire apartment again. She found the emptiness comforting.

* * *

_Two months later_

"If you think you can just waltz in here and change _months_ of planning and hard work just because _you_ had a sudden idea –"

Michael Stratton was nearly choking on his own saliva.

"Do you realize how many people have worked on this? Do you, Liss!? Or is that just a fantastical notion in your head?"

Penny winced. She had known he would overreact and throw a fit, but it couldn't be helped.

"I realize this isn't easy for _anyone_ , especially the people who have been involved in this story since day one, but they, like me, would agree that it is better to prevent a public disaster than to instigate it in the hopes that it will be detrimental to our rival."

Stratton fumed as he paced back and forth in the narrow hallway of Dent's campaign headquarters.

"You're exaggerating," he muttered under his breath. "Calling it public disaster…it would be a small scandal, at _best_. Besides, you've had little to no experience with these things, and you have _no_ sense of how the press works in this town."

Penny narrowed her eyes at him.

"I think I'd have a clue or two."

Stratton realized what he had said, but he only sneered at her and continued pacing.

"That's beside the point! You are going to endanger a potentially advantageous move just because someone rang your ethical bells. And if you are going to come in here and lecture me about morals…"

"I have absolutely no intention of doing that," Penny replied coolly. "And I am not "endangering" anything, except perhaps your ego. In fact, I am _saving_ you from making a terrible mistake. I only wanted to inform you I'm going through with this and that I've already convinced Harvey. Now it's only a matter of convincing the others."

"Well, of course you fucking did!" Stratton expelled angrily. "Of course you convinced Harvey! You've got him wrapped around your little finger!"

Penny blanched. "I don't –"

"Oh, don't even try to deny it!"

"I won't deny he was sensible enough to listen to my arguments without making a scene," she retorted angrily.

"Sensible enough, I see. Do you remember, Liss, that it was I who brought you here? Not Harvey. _Me_. I was the one with the brilliant idea. _I_ saw the potential. You and Bloomherst would've been nothing but tabloid news without me."

Penny was beginning to lose her patience.

"What is your point?"

"My point is that, I brought you here and I can make you leave this place too."

Penny remained silent for a moment.

Stratton felt a kind of exhilaration to see her suddenly go quiet.

"I don't have to stand here and listen to these threats," she suddenly spoke, turning around and marching towards the exit.

Stratton nearly went blind with anger.

"Hang on! I was talking to you! You can't just –"

He followed her into the reception area, ignoring the odd looks he received from the few people gathered there.

"Liss! I wasn't done with you!"

"Keep your voice down, Stratton," she warned him.

"I won't keep my voice down when you decide to ignore me!"

"I'm not ignoring you. You were compromising yourself and I decided to leave to make it easier for you."

Stratton stared at her in disbelief.

"Oh, oh, you are a real vixen, you know that? With your perfect composure and your perfect little speeches about victims and second-grade heroics. No one could even tell where you _actually_ come from."

By now, more and more people had gathered around them and were watching the scene unfold.

"And where is that?" she challenged.

"Look here, Liss. You may have fooled Harvey with your hard-working mouse routine, but I know your type too well to fall for the same shtick. Your only skill is manipulation and weak manipulation, at that."

"It's not called manipulation if your boss likes my ideas better than yours," she replied hotly.

"Oh, I'm sure he _likes_ them. I'm sure he gets more from you than ideas. I'm sure those long nights you spend at the office are all about _ideas_."

_Smack!_

Stratton had not seen it coming. Penny Liss could barely reach his shoulders and yet she had almost knocked him down with a single slap.

She was glaring at him so ferociously, that he had to step back, gingerly placing a hand over his red cheek.

A few moments passed in terrifying silence. Penny was panting, but she tried her best to rein in her anger. Her entire body was shaking.

Stratton looked around bewildered at the crowd that had gathered around them.

"Well! You all saw that! Miss Liss _clearly_ hasn't recovered from the shock of her trauma. In fact, this kind of violence shows she's not ready to handle herself in this kind of environment."

"No, Mike. It's you who can't handle yourself in this office."

Stratton turned around to find Harvey Dent staring at him with a look that could make any man freeze.

"I'm afraid I can't allow this kind of behavior among my staff," he continued, walking up to Penny and standing behind her like a knight in shining armor.

"You – what are you saying?"

"I'm saying you should no longer be the head of this campaign. I'm saying you're fired. I want you out of here in half an hour."

"You can't be serious! Harvey, after all we've –"

" _Please_ refrain from calling me by my Christian name. You've insulted me and Miss Liss enough."

Michael Stratton did not leave without making a scene. He was smart enough not to make any physical threats, knowing he would be dragged out by security like a common criminal, but he made sure he let everyone know what a big mistake they were making.

"You might as well leave with me since this campaign is _over_. And Harvey Dent should say goodbye to the D.A. office too," he warned ominously.

No one left with him, however.

In fact, most of the staff members were whispering "good riddance" under their breaths.

Harvey pulled Penny towards him and offered her an apologetic smile.

"I guess I'm not the best judge of character when it comes to the people I work with. I failed once. I won't repeat the same mistake again. Penny Liss, will you be my campaign manager?"

* * *

The media was going insane. The story was too good to be true. A veteran lobbyist and campaign official, Michael Stratton, had been kicked to the curb for a twenty-two year old with a business degree and no previous experience in the field, a twenty-two year old who had survived an attack on her life on the 25th of May in one of the buildings of the now controversial Bloomherst complex.

It was someone's idea of a perverse Cinderella story. The press still remembered Penny Liss, the courageous elevator victim, but now they had a new attaché to her name: campaign manager.

People were divided: some believed this was a distasteful move on Harvey's part to garner more support by building up this young woman only to bring her down when he no longer needed her; others believed it was a bold and brilliant political strategy, since it offered the people even more incentive to care for Dent's campaign. Both parties agreed that Penny Liss was only the blameless peon in the game of chess between Harvey Dent and Gotham.

The news article Bruce Wayne was perusing on his screen had a similar take on the entire debacle. Of more interest to him was a new interview, given by Michael Stratton, in which he slandered Miss Liss in the most awful terms possible, implying a possible affair between Harvey and his "protégée". Stratton even claimed he had seen them together in compromising situations.

These rumors were going to feed many a scandal press, Bruce surmised. He was used to that by now, but he wondered how Harvey would take it.

And Rachel.

His mind always found its way to her, even when he tried his best to block her out. He knew all too well that Rachel and Harvey were getting serious and that his childhood friend was a better judge of character than all the news circuits in town and wouldn't have committed to a man that could turn around and take advantage of a young subaltern. Still, it made him uncomfortable to think Rachel was reading this trash and maybe taking it to heart.

For the umpteenth time, he thought of calling her. But what good would that do? He didn't think she'd like to be reminded of press scandals.

He almost felt loath to admit, but he would have preferred if Miss Liss and Dent _were_ involved.

Bruce sighed and pushed down the laptop screen. He was supposed to be worrying about Miss Liss, not Rachel. After all, Jack had dropped off the face of the earth and everyone else seemed to have forgotten about him, except him and most likely, Penny herself. This was far more troubling than any political campaign or scandalous affair.

"I see you've saved my seat for me."

Lucius Fox smiled broadly as he entered the conference room to find his old friend sitting in his chair, waiting for him.

"Ah, I'm sorry to barge in like this, Lucius, I hope you don't mind –"

"I never mind your visits, Mr. Wayne. In fact, I make myself forget them the very next day, because you usually ask for something illegal or immoral."

Bruce chuckled. "Maybe this time will be different."

"I would be disappointed," Lucius replied, smiling wryly.

Bruce patted him on the back and opened the laptop screen for him.

"I just wanted to know how we've been progressing with _her_."

Lucius frowned, bending down to look at the screen.

"Oh. Miss Liss. I see. Yes, well, she's been rather unresponsive to our calls, hasn't she?"

"She has. And she's kept herself busy, now more than ever. But the campaign will soon be over, and I'd like for you to step in when that happens."

"Certainly, Mr. Wayne. I was only waiting for the opportune moment."

Bruce smiled. "Were you?"

"To tell you the truth, Sir, even if you hadn't asked me, I would have probably wanted to get our employee back. She has made an impression. Who knew she could turn so many wheels at once?"

"I see you're one step ahead."

"As always. And I suppose, since I am one step ahead, that you want me to speak to her in person."

Bruce chuckled. "You have a gift, Lucius. Yes, I'd like you to do that. I have a suspicion she needs a little more persuasion than just words on paper."

"Your suspicion might prove correct. The smart ones always need more persuasion."

"Likely."

"Mr. Wayne, maybe it's not my place but –"

"Please, you know you can discuss anything with me."

"Well, like I said, I'd hate to lose her as an employee and I understand your concern, but why not simply keep surveillance on her if you fear that, that maniac will come back to Gotham after her?"

Bruce's face darkened with apprehension.

"It's not just the maniac I fear, Lucius."

* * *

_One month later_

"I'd like to dedicate this toast to my lovely fiancée, Rachel Dawes, without whom I wouldn't have been able to survive these past few months."

Rachel shook her head and raised her glass in mock-solemnity. She had to remember to tell him to stop making corny declarations like that in public. She flushed with pleasure, either way.

"She has been the fiercest supporter, friend and companion any man could have. I hope she realizes how important she is to me."

The applause followed on cue.

Rachel waved her hand, blushing.

"He's a big old fool," she whispered to the people seated next to her.

"But there is one person," Harvey continued, his proud face beaming, "who supported both Rachel and I in our time of need, who has been the constant asset to our team. She has been the brains behind this entire operation for a while now and I can only take credit for having found her."

Rachel flashed a smile at Penny. She was seated at the front beside Harvey, but for all purposes, she looked like she wanted the earth to swallow her. Her cheeks were aflame.

"She doesn't like to brag, so I'll do it for her. She has not only maintained an enviable level of professionalism throughout the entire campaign and ensured its success, but she has also made valuable connections with the Gotham City Police Department, initiated the popular Youth Court program and helped revise Project Gotham Clean-Up from scratch. I would go on, but I think it would only be fair to let her have a say in this. I give you my campaign manager, Penelope Liss!"

Penny reluctantly took his hand as he raised her from her chair. He pulled her hand up in the air, in the same victory stance they had held during various press conferences.

"Thank you for those inspiring words, Mr. Dent," she said, when she had both hands free again.

"I thought by now you would have realized your politician's flattery doesn't work on me," she joked, throwing him a look. The whole room roared with laughter.

"Nonetheless, you have forgotten to mention I was also in charge with the preparations of this dinner party. So, if you wish to thank me truly, you will all enjoy yourselves and not let the food get cold. Tonight is a night of celebration, not long speeches. I leave you to it."

The room responded with chuckles and smiles, but they all looked a little disappointed when she sat down once more.

Penny quickly grabbed her champagne flute and downed it in one sip. She was slightly on edge tonight. Every single moment in the past had been culminating to this; the victory night. And now that it was here, she didn't know what to do with herself.

In theory, she was supposed sit back and enjoy the fruits of her hard work.

Of course, fifteen minutes later, she found herself in the kitchens again, checking to see if all the dishes had been served properly. The supervisor threw her out promptly.

She couldn't stand still and she couldn't sit down, either.

She walked around the ball room aimlessly, questioning caterers and servers from time to time, but mostly watching people's reactions, trying to guess their thoughts, wondering if they liked the designs, the arrangements, the food, the band, wondering if they liked _her_ work.

The dancing had already begun and Rachel and Harvey were right at the center of the dance floor.

She smiled, leaning against one of the room's pillars, thinking that perhaps things had turned out well, after all.

After tonight, she couldn't tell what would happen next. She only knew she felt exhausted, but a good kind of exhausted. She even had hopes that tonight she'd enjoy another dreamless sleep.

"It is a crime for you to be standing on the sidelines at your own celebration."

Penny turned around, ready to repartee with whatever guest had decided to keep her company.

"I don't believe we have met before. Lucius Fox, CEO of Wayne Enterprises."

Penny gaped at him, eyes wide with shock.

"Yes, I know who you are, Mr. Fox," she said at length, taking his offered hand and shaking it feebly.

She had dreamt of meeting him in person ever since she had started working at Wayne Enterprises. The man was a living legend. And now that it was happening, she was at a loss for words.

"And I know who _you_ are, Miss Liss. Perhaps you'd care to join me for this dance. You look quite lovely tonight and you'd do an old man a favor."

Penny concealed her second shock at being called lovely by Lucius Fox with a nervous smile. After only a moment's hesitation, she placed her hand around his elbow and let herself be led towards the dance floor.

It was all happening in a daze. He placed one hand on the small of her back, while the other held her fingers gently. They started moving slowly. Penny thanked the gods it was a slow song.

She looked at him for the first time. His face inspired trust, even from up close. He had a paternal sort of charm to him, but at the same time, you could see the sharpness behind those warm eyes, ready to pounce on you, should there be an occasion for it.

Penny's thoughts became less incoherent as she finally seemed to understand that no, she wasn't imagining things, he was here, _dancing_ with her, and he had come to this dinner party with a purpose.

"I am, of course, flattered by your attention, but to what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Fox?" she began warily.

Lucius chuckled. "I see I couldn't dazzle you for long. I had better check that off the list."

Penny smiled good-naturedly.

"I am honored to meet you, Sir, but I am surprised at the circumstances."

"The honor is all mine, Miss Liss. And the circumstances should not surprise you too much. What better occasion to come and woo you?"

" _Woo_ me?"

"I believe you know very well what I mean."

And Penny suddenly realized she did. She had pushed the torn envelope at the back of her mind, but now it was coming back with a vengeance.

However, for the CEO to come in person and remind one of his minor employees from a subdivision about their work obligations was unseemly. Ridiculous, even.

"It has been a while," she spoke awkwardly.

"Yes, three months to be exact," Lucius confirmed.

"I have been…engaged in other affairs, as you can see."

"I did notice. And I commend you for it. You have done a wonderful job, I must say."

Penny stared at him. Did Wayne Enterprises truly feel _so_ responsible about what had happened to her that they were adamant in showing as much cordiality as possible? No, of course not. More likely, she was a much bigger asset now due to the good publicity she had garnered. At the moment, she was a prize on the job market, she couldn't deny that.

"Thank you. But I fail to see what that has to do with my hypothetical position at Wayne Enterprises."

"Hypothetical? I'm sad to hear that. I was hoping we could make quite a team."

Penny frowned.

"A team?"

"Mr. Dent has made the prospect sound very appealing. Yes, Miss Liss. I'm here to offer you a job."

Penny shook her head.

"If you are referring to the Applied Sciences division –"

"Well, that is where I most spend my time, I'm afraid. Old hobby of mine. But no. You would be working for me."

"Pardon?"

"And I thought _I_ was hard of hearing. I will repeat myself, Miss Liss. You would be working for me. Directly."

"I don't understand –"

"Every CEO needs an executive assistant, doesn't he?"

"I'm sorry, but you don't mean –"

"Oh, I know very well what I mean. And you, Miss Liss, would be an ideal candidate for the job. In fact, you are the only candidate I have in mind."

The song was ending and the two broke apart.

Penny had suddenly grown stiff and cold all over. She was no longer nervous. She was suspicious.

"I appreciate you considering me for such an important position, Mr. Fox, but I do not feel I am qualified at the moment to take on such a responsibility and I feel you are making this choice based on–"

"Based on the events that occurred six months ago?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, of course."

Penny gasped. He was not even going to conceal it.

"Why would I hide it?" he continued, almost as if he'd read her mind. "I am the most transparent man in Gotham. You will only get the truth from me, Miss Liss."

"Then you know why I would refuse your offer."

"No, actually I wouldn't," he replied, giving her a warm smile that seemed to contradict everything he had previously said.

"You see," he continued, "I have found the one flaw in your otherwise excellent way of thinking. You have taken as granted the fact that people will consider you less of a person after what occurred. No, no, don't try to deny it. It's strange to me that you'd allow such an erroneous judgment to corrupt your mind, but there it is."

Penny was taken aback by his words.

"It's why you think people would offer you "pity" jobs, because they must feel sorry for you. The idea that they could admire your tenacity, strength and courage has never entered your head, or if it has, you have proceeded to eliminate it as quickly as possible."

Penny opened her mouth to reply, but Lucius raised one finger and silenced her.

"You say you are not qualified but I look around and I see what you have built for yourself in the span of half a year. You say that my choice is biased. Well, of course it is. It is biased because no other employee of mine has become a campaign manager for a D.A., as far as I know."

"Sir –"

"I know, Miss Liss, that even so, you'd find it hard to believe me. You are of a doubting nature and you'd rather dwell on worst case scenarios. I suppose I can relate. But a little optimism never hurt anyone. And, I say this to you: even if this _were_ a pity job, why the _hell_ would you not take it?"

Penny was at a loss for words, again.

"Why would you turn your back on something you've worked so hard for? Why would you turn down the biggest opportunity of your life? Your ambition would surely not settle for less. Take it from me, Miss Liss: if someone pities you, it is _their_ fault, not yours. Why not take advantage of their weakness rather than give them power over you?"

Penny looked down at her feet, embarrassed that she seemed unable to come up with a good argument. His words had a mesmerizing power over her. He seemed to speak so much truth, even when she knew it couldn't possibly be true.

And yet...

"You said tonight is a night of celebration, so I am certainly not pressuring you to make your decision now. But you might want to call me in a couple of days, when you've decided what you want to do with your life. Until then."

He placed an immaculate white card between her fingers, bowed politely and walked out of the ball room as if he had never even been there.

* * *

_This is good. This is safe. This is what I'm supposed to do. Stay in the public eye._

Penny had already shriveled up the napkin she had been offered.

"I'm sorry, but do you have to apply so much makeup?"

The young girl was wearing a bored expression on her face and her eyes were lined with dark circles from sleep deprivation and too much caffeine. She was clearly not in the mood to humor Penny.

"Please stand still," the girl said stiffly.

Penny closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, waiting for the torturous proceedings to be over.

She felt the girl's cold fingers on her face and recoiled. Next she felt the color spread from her eyes to her cheeks, then to her lips and finally, to her throat. It permeated her skin and reached the chambers of her heart, piercing through the flesh, settling inside her heartbeat.

Penny had forgotten every single line of her carefully prepared answers. Which was bad news, since she knew that inevitably, she would have to speak about _him_ too.

And how would she be able to stand in front of that crowd and bear that horrific silence, _her_ own silence, when the host would ask her about the man of her nightmares?

 _You still have time to think of something_ , she thought.

She was going on in twenty minutes.

She supposed it was _something_ to be featured in the Late Night segment of Gotham's broadcast network.

 _This is what you wanted, right? Public eye_ , she kept repeating, trying to make it sound as convincing as it had sounded before, when she wasn't getting ready for a talkshow.

"Done," the girl said, removing her cold fingers from her face.

Penny opened her eyes to see a different face staring at her in the mirror. A face that teased you with secrets hidden underneath black eyeliner and mysteries lying in the shadow of full pink lips. A face whose smile had been frozen by death.

* * *

Penny pulled down the hem of the short dress over her exposed legs and tried her best to keep up with the host's jibes on Gotham's latest celebrities. The couch she was sitting on was infinitely uncomfortable and she wanted to punch whoever had thought it would be a good idea for her to spend half an hour on it.

"But you are a celebrity of sorts too, aren't you?"

Penny raised her eyebrows. "Oh. God, no. I'd be so embarrassed."

The audience and the host both laughed.

"Well, too late. I'm afraid you've already been recognized on the streets, from what I hear."

"Barely," she said, waving her hand. "They must've taken me for someone else."

"You mean another D.A. campaign manager and soon-to-be Wayne Enterprises executive manager?"

The audience laughed again.

Penny bowed her head, feeling both pleased and humiliated. "Executive assistant. There's a difference, you know."

"Oh, we do, we do, but we're predicting the future. I mean, I think we all root for you, don't we?"

The audience cheered.

"Let me guess, I'm the underdog who managed to reach the finish line," she teased, making the rehearsed line sound perfectly natural to everyone's ears.

The host chuckled. "Well, what is more powerful than an underdog? Just think where it all started from. You could say you really turned your life around."

"More or less. I'm still terrible at cooking, though," she joked, delivering her second well-rehearsed line.

The audience laughed, as predicted.

"But if I may be a bit bolder –"

"Please."

"Tell me, how have you coped this past year with all that's happened to you? How have you overcome your personal tragedy? Perhaps there's a lesson in it for all of us."

There it was. The question she had tried to master all day long. The question that turned her stomach upside down. The question that made her want to claw her eyes out.

Instead, she smiled politely and shrugged in a self-deprecating manner.

"There's no big philosophy behind it. I survived. That's the only way I can put it. I survived against all odds. And every one of us would, if our limits were tested. Because we don't give ourselves enough credit. But we _can_ survive."

_Good. You included the audience and the people…now, close it off somehow. Change the subject._

"It's a shame more people don't get to hear this message, because it rings so true coming from someone who has gone through hell and back."

"I wouldn't say I've gone through hell and back. The campaign, actually, was more daunting –"

"One last personal question, Penny and then I promise I won't pester you anymore."

Penny swallowed hard.

"Many of us have been wondering, when you were trapped in that elevator for so many hours, what kept you going? What thought gave you hope and made you want to survive?"

Penny blanked. She saw the operators making signs at her, pointing at the front camera. She was supposed to stare directly into it as she answered.

She held her breath for a moment, feeling a shout threaten to burst from her lips.

But then, she knew exactly what she was going to say.

"I didn't think. I _acted_. I did what I had to do. I saved myself," she spoke calmly into the camera.

* * *

From the other side of the screen, Stratton watched helplessly as the audience laughed and awed at the girl that had beaten him.

Of course, he couldn't make many sounds, except to whimper.

He had a gag in his mouth and his hands and feet were tied to the chair he was sitting in. He was bleeding from one side of his ribs and his forehead was awash in beads of sweat. He was slowly losing consciousness.

Behind him, he heard the scuttle of a knife on the table. The scraping of feet on the floor. A man's guttural laugh.

The same man came up to him from behind and crouched down to whisper in his ear.

"Naughty, naughty Mike."

The knife slit his throat easily. It took less than a moment. He didn't have time to scream. His skin opened up almost by instinct.

For Stratton, the screen turned to black.

But the man kept watching, eyes alit with the image of the girl in the short grey dress and full pink lips.

"I didn't think. I _acted_. I did what I had to do. I saved myself."

As she stared straight into the camera, their eyes met briefly.

Jack grinned, picking his teeth with the bloody tip of his knife.

"Sharp as always, Moneypenny."


	11. Chapter 11

_15 months later_

"…we wouldn't advise our listeners to take the shortcut to Diamond District through Renfield Avenue. Traffic is tight at this hour and we have reports of a large blockage caused by unprecedented work on Interstate 94…"

Penny tiptoed around her dressing room in an embarrassing attempt to zip her dress all the way to her nape. She was thankful no one could see the usually severe-looking executive assistant prancing around like a seven-year old.

She was barely listening to the background noise of the radio. She was compiling mental lists again.

_\- check HR committee's progress on Sommerset Stadium Gala and talk second budget_

_\- tell Audrey and the team to redact the auditor's report on Chinese Wayne Biotech sub-branch and include it in final draft of business plan_

_\- send summary of final business plan to Wayne Medical_

_\- lunch & take pills _

_\- meet with the Daily Gotham rep to kill the Applied Sciences division story_

_\- meet with Lucius to talk about making the Applied Sciences' archives public_

_\- private conference with Lucius and investors_

_\- date with Devlin at La Marseillaise, try to convince him to sponsor Sommerset Gala_

_\- get home by nine_

_\- shower and breathing exercises_

_\- prepare notes for next week's press conference in bed_

_\- read final chapter of Pragmatic Revolt in American History and pick something different next time for pleasure reading_

_\- take pills, sleep._

So far, so good.

"Finally," she muttered as she heard the click at the back of her nape. She had caught her skin by accident. She looped one finger inside the fabric and pulled hard. There was a bit of blood on her finger now. She looked at it for a few seconds before licking it off.

Penny went to the mirror and put on her pumps.

"Today, I'll take my pills and worry less," she said, wriggling her toes inside the uncomfortable shoes. Dr. Joan Rimsy was expecting her to say it and believe it, but saying it was good enough for her.

Penny bent down to her sock drawer and pulled the compartment open, revealing the metal casing inside. She placed her fingers on the scanner. The light turned green. She punched in the personal code. The metal casing slid open. Inside, an assortment of guns was waiting for her to choose. She pulled out a Glock 38 and checked the ammo.

"You'll do."

Penny slipped the gun in its holder and put it inside her purse.

She did a last check-up of the bedroom, then, stepping inside the bathroom, she saw the bottle of pills perched precariously on the edge of the sink.

Penny hesitated. She extended her hand, but at the last moment, she pulled away.

_I'll just take the night dosage when I get home._

She left the room in a hurry, clasping her purse and hanging it over her elbow. She turned on the surveillance cameras and headed for the private elevator.

The white doors opened without a sound.

She stepped inside and did not look behind her. The doors closed. It was always very cold inside the elevator, but that is how she liked it.

She stared at the reflection the doors provided her and instantly frowned, knitting her eyebrows together in annoyance. One might say she looked impeccable; there were no loose strands of hair on her shoulders, no creases on her clothes, no blemishes on her face, her makeup was careful and understated, the jewelry, sparse and tasteful.

And yet, she wished she could tear half her face out. It was plain to see – at least it was plain to _her_ – that she was struggling to embody professionalism and class and the mere fact that it did not come effortlessly to her, that she had to step inside this skin like an impostor, made her cringe and gnash her teeth in frustration. It was just one of the minor hateful thoughts she sometimes entertained, and it only went away when she remembered others struggled too. At least, that's what Dr. Rimsy liked to remind her.

She now regretted not having taken the bottle of pills, after all. She always felt a little angry when she had to step inside the elevator. Most times, she was her own enemy, growing angry at herself and her expectations, but other times, she was angry because she had to stand there, in that empty coldness, and face the sealed doors all alone. It was a slap in the face, having to bear this gulf of nothingness, trapped inside a coffin she had sworn to avoid, whereas _he_ …he was free.

He wasn't inside the elevator, that much was obvious. He never was, and his absence haunted her and made her feel as if everything had been forgotten and she was the only fool who still remembered.

It had been two years. People expected her to have moved on. A one-year trauma, they could still understand. But two? She was pushing it.

They didn't have to worry about her, though.

It was only this early in the morning, alone, in the elevator, that she allowed thoughts of him to enter her head. As soon as she stepped out into the sandstone hallway of her apartment building and saw Martin, the doorman, smiling at her benignly from behind his desk, she became just like everyone else. She was no longer a fool. She forgot.

Today proved no different. She walked out of the elevator and was greeted peremptorily by Martin, who stood up to open the entrance door for her.

"How are you this morning, Martin?"

"Very well, Miss Liss, 'cept for this hip pain, I think it's goin' to rain."

"Let's hope you're wrong, I left my umbrella upstairs."

She was merely being polite, of course, since there was a car waiting for her outside.

"Then my hip is lying," he chuckled, slapping his leg to prove a point.

As she passed by his desk, her eyes landed briefly on his chair. She saw a patchy-looking shirt draped over its back. It was the color of spoiled milk and looked like something a teenager would wear. For a brief moment, she wondered what it was doing there. She knew Martin had no children.

"Miss Liss?"

Martin was holding the door open.

Penny did not wait to be asked again. She smiled graciously and said goodbye.

The driver was already standing next to the car, waiting for her.

By the time she had gotten inside and they had driven away, her mind was already busily drawing up lists again, the odd article of clothing forgotten.

* * *

"Kyle, sponsors? Do you have a complete list of definite backers?"

The young man she had enlisted rose from his chair and moved to the front of the conference room. He was obviously nervous to be singled out, but he started speaking fast so as not to lose courage.

"Well, most of our affiliates are backing at least 40% of one month's income, as per our deal, but the only collaborators that have signed the donations are KC FOODS, Myers & Lowells, DayHouse International, Sierra Park…"

Penny looked around the room and saw that everyone was typing down the names diligently or making modifications to their own lists. She took a sip of her coffee and proceeded to cut off several names from her own list and add a few.

So far, the Gala looked like it could be a success, but even this late there were sponsors who would get cold feet. Disabled children were a worthy, sentimental cause, but disabled seniors? The usual argument was that they were all half-dead anyway and even more inconvenient than regular seniors. They argued that the Gala should be about _important_ matters. Accusations of ableism had never stopped these people from withdrawing large sums after getting their names on public lists.

But this was her baby project and she was standing by it. Not to mention, she had invited Mrs. Levenstein to the event and the old woman had been delighted to hear that Penny was in charge of something that was very close to her heart. Mrs. Levenstein volunteered regularly at home-cares and shelters for the elderly. She was a retired nurse but still liked to give a hand whenever she could. Penny felt she owed her friend after she and her family had helped her through some of the worst months of her life.

The door to the conference room was drawn silently and a young woman tiptoed to Penny's side.

"Miss Liss, I'm afraid they're waiting for you from the Daily Gotham…"

Penny turned her head in surprise.

" _Already_? They are at least three hours early. We didn't schedule the appointment at ten –"

"I told them that, but they won't take no for answer. They say it's the only time available."

Penny frowned. "It's a strategy. They want to catch us unprepared. Very well, see them to my office. I'll be there in a minute."

* * *

"Gentlemen, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. But I wouldn't have, if you had been on time."

"We are on time, Miss Liss. Our flaw is that we are _too_ punctual."

Penny scanned their serpentine smiles and knew right away she would have to start on them quickly. If she let them get a word in between, she'd never get rid of them.

They were both in their mid-thirties, but wore the kind of casual youthful apparel that let everyone know they weren't working for "the Man". For all purposes, they were freelance writers giving the Daily Gotham a hand.

Their eagerness gave them away, however. Especially the early hour.

"Well, then, let's not waste a single minute, because my schedule is airtight. What can I do for you?"

"We would appreciate it if you could provide us with more information about the Applied Sciences division."

Penny smiled. "And you think it's an executive assistant's job to give you a presentation of Wayne Enterprises? Or perhaps you think I should do _your_ job, which is the research you failed to do before coming here?"

The two men exchanged surreptitious smirks between them.

"We aren't looking for hostility, Miss Liss."

"Hostility?" she echoed, surprised. "I am merely encouraging you to be better journalists. It would be to our shared advantage, really. I would not waste time delivering to you information which you can easily access, and you two gentlemen would not be spending such a fine summer morning stuck in a stuffy office building."

"It's a reasonable question, Miss Liss. Fox has made you responsible over HR, hasn't he? And so, indirectly, you are in charge of Wayne Enterprises' image?"

"Of course, I'm glad you took the trouble to know at least _that_. I don't know, however, why you can't distinguish between public image and public information, when the two are separate things."

Their smirks had faded somewhat. They were both beginning to realize she was quite good at evasion.

"That's the problem, actually. There is _no_ public information. Not on Applied Sciences. There's only the usual blurb. We'd love to access more, but there isn't anything to access."

Penny chuckled. "Not fans of the internet, I presume?"

The man on the left rose a little in his chair.

"Please, you've insulted our work ethics enough, Miss Liss. We've exhausted all possible sources, including the public archives that Wayne Enterprises is benevolent enough to share."

"I am sorry to hear you feel insulted. I guess humor is not my forte. But this is a little bit amusing. Because it seems you _did_ do your homework and you're coming to me for grades." Penny leaned back in her seat, twirling a pen between her fingers. "But I can offer you no more than what the public archives have – how did you put it? – so benevolently shared. I am at a loss as to why you're even here. You already have enough material for your story, whatever it is you intend to write."

"We intend to write the truth, Miss Liss, and the truth is that the Applied Sciences division is the only division that has not made any archives public."

"I'm sorry, what is the argument?"

"The argument is that you've got a division that is, for all purposes, acting under classified information and is being subsidized by Wayne Enterprises for very little capital inflow. One has to wonder why it exists at all if it appears perfectly useless in the public eye. Unless, of course, you decide to show us what Applied Sciences has been working on so diligently."

Penny seemed to ponder their words carefully as she continued to play with the pen.

"Mm, an argument could be made that this story is more useless to the public than the Applied Sciences division."

The two men exchanged amused looks.

"Beg your pardon, Miss Liss?"

Penny smiled. "Let's be frank, gentlemen. No one in this town, except the few from the press who have nothing to churn, cares about this story. There is no story, so to speak. The people care about results and Wayne Enterprises is giving those in spades. The archives that have been made public are those that actually _serve_ the public. They have proven sufficient for government inspection, so it is a little condescending to assume the state has practiced less efficiency than the two of you."

The man on the left made to interrupt her, but she lifted a finger in the manner she had seen Lucius Fox do, and continued speaking.

"If we are to be even franker, few actually _know_ an Applied Sciences division exists and if they do, they obviously trust that our confidentiality is a necessity, not a whim. There has been no public outcry on its behalf because they believe, and it is a very _justified_ belief, that this division helps hold together the quality of production and innovation that has made Wayne Enterprises what it is. And that is why, gentlemen, your story would only be a waste of resources and time, and would mirror the profitless subsidizing you spoke of earlier."

"Now hold on a minute, Miss Liss, that isn't a fair assumption –"

"You're right. A fair assumption would be that The Daily Gotham is paying you to deliver a story that is profitable to both the newspaper and the city, presumably. The Applied Sciences division story would serve neither. In fact, if I were to call your superiors, I would probably find out they never sent you on this wild goose chase."

The two men exchanged uncomfortable looks. For the first time, they looked wary.

"We bring stories to our editors, not the other way around–" one of them began awkwardly.

"And this isn't the first time the press has investigated this matter," the other one chimed in more aggressively.

"No, I'm sure you're not the first or the last ambitious columnists who've chosen less conventional ways to promote themselves."

"It's not about self-promotion-"

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't judge you, believe me, I might even understand you. There's a level of personal gain that drives us in any field. But even so, it seems a bit counterintuitive of you to choose a "risqué", but ultimately safe piece, instead of taking on the active Gotham crime scene that is much more detrimental to the public than, say, an intellectually relevant division in a prosperous and legally sound multinational company."

For a few moments, neither said anything. They were less confident now than when they had entered her office and she could read the resentment in their eyes.

"Miss Liss," the one on the right persisted, "all you are doing is avoiding the subject –"

"Perhaps, but since there is no subject, I am simply doing my job as an executive assistant. Did you know my main function is time management? Here I have saved you ample time and provided you with more useful ways to occupy it, free of charge. But, I'm afraid, you'll have to actually pay me if you wish to use my services further. Not to be presumptuous, but I don't think you can afford me. As it is, my secretary will escort you out."

They barely had time to register what was happening before the same quiet woman from before opened the door for them.

"Just to be clear, Miss Liss, everything spoken in this room was on record," the one on the left said, swallowing bitterly.

"Good. I hope you quote me on the last lines. I'd like to advertize myself properly."

* * *

Lucius Fox was a little amused to see Penelope Liss pacing his office up and down as if she owned it. She was all demureness when they were out in public, but in private, she let her personality unravel. And she liked to have control more than he did. He found he could not refuse her this luxury, as he could not refuse her many things.

Except, he would refuse her this _one_ thing.

"But why must this be _so_ difficult, Lucius? It's a matter of days, really. I could take care of it –"

"I'm afraid my answer is still no, Penelope."

Penny let out a groan. "I feel like those two dimwits who came into my office earlier, demanding a story. I'm not asking the impossible. I'm not even asking you to do it. I'm only asking _why_."

"Ah, but we both know you also want me to do it."

"Well, yes!" she expelled. "I don't like endangering our public image, or making up false arguments to the press."

"Oh, come. That is mere sport for you."

But Penny would not be mollified by the compliment.

"I know Applied Sciences holds a special place with you and that's why you must let me preserve it, by making it public. Otherwise, we will be getting questioned by more than just the press."

"You let _me_ worry about that."

"I can't, that's the problem."

Lucius sighed. "When the time is right, you will know why I'm reluctant to do what you deem so simple and straightforward."

Penny stopped mid-step and turned towards him with folded arms. Worry was written plainly across her face.

"Please tell me those two buffoons aren't right. Please tell me there's nothing illicit or illegal about it."

"There's not, that I can testify for."

"Then?"

"Let's say it fringes more on an ethical dilemma."

Penny narrowed her eyes.

"That still doesn't sit well with me, Lucius."

"I hadn't noticed."

"Why won't you tell me what the secrecy is for? Whatever Applied Sciences is covering couldn't be worth more than our name."

Lucius sighed. "All in due time, Penelope. All in due time. You're getting ahead of yourself. It's only one story in the Daily Gotham, which will probably never land. It will hardly bear anything on our name."

"May I remind you there's an important Gala we are hosting in two weeks' time?"

"And you think this will affect it somehow."

"Sponsors are already fickle."

"I will handle it."

"But –"

" _Miss_ Liss. I'd worry more about what you'll tell J. Devlin Davenport to get him to spend a couple of millions on disabled seniors."

Penny rolled her eyes. "Does the whole firm know about it?"

Lucius smirked. "That my executive assistant is taking advantage of an innocent wealthy socialite? It's front page news."

Penny smiled wryly. "You know I won't forget about Applied Sciences."

"I'm counting on that, because at one point, I will need you to remember everything I tell you about it."

Before Penny could question him any further, he placed one fatherly arm on her shoulder and opened the door.

"I believe we have a private conference to attend to."

* * *

"I'm so sorry, Miss Liss, but you're ten minutes late to –"

"The date at La Marseillaise, I know, Cynthia," Penny sighed, strutting quickly towards her office, already trying to come up with an excuse to give Devlin. She knew he hated waiting.

She quickly locked the door to her office, pulled out her evening dress and proceeded to undress. She had to refresh her makeup, which was one of the more unpleasant activities she was not looking forward to. She also had to make a call at La Marseillaise and hope that Devlin was still there.

Penny sighed. She was once again jumping up and down the room, trying to zip up her dress. Different one this time around, but it seems she never learned to do it right.

In all the commotion, she had barely paid any attention to her desk. She was about to pull out her makeup kit from her purse when her eyes landed on its smooth surface.

For a couple of moments she stood with her hand frozen inside her purse. Her brain was trying to reset itself and take back control of her limbs. She was suspended from reality, staring at the object in front of her as if it was an alien device.

"Cynthia!" she called out hoarsely. "Cynthia!"

The secretary scurried in quickly, ready to help with the preparations for the date.

"Miss Liss?"

"What is that can opener doing on my desk?"

Cynthia stared at the forked object with a kind of terrified curiosity.

"I – I have no idea how that thing got there," she fumbled, walking up to the desk. She meant to pick it up, but Penny stopped her.

"Did anyone come into this office while I was gone?"

"No, of course not. I would have noticed."

"Are you sure? Did you take a bathroom break?"

"Well, yes, but I told Martha to watch –"

"Nevermind, I'll just check the security cameras, but next time, be more careful, please."

"Miss Liss? Maybe the gentlemen from the press left it there? Otherwise, I can't see how that thing got in here. I promise you I was very careful."

Penny nodded absently.

"I know. It's all right. Someone must have left it here. You can go."

"Are you sure you don't need anything else?"

"No, you've been very useful."

Cynthia knew she was not likely to get anything else out of her, but she felt quite troubled as she left her boss' office. She had never seen Miss Liss this disturbed.

Penny tried to calm her breathing.

_A coincidence. A freakish coincidence. Let it go. You can't afford this right now. Coincidence. Let go._

Reality was slowly wiring itself back into her head. Security could handle this breach. She didn't have the time for it.

She still hadn't zipped her dress all the way up. She still hadn't refreshed her makeup. She still hadn't made that phone call to La Marseillaise.

And the can opener was still lying on her desk.

"Fuck."

* * *

"Am I boring you?"

Penny gritted her teeth and stabbed the stewed beef in front of her with much more force than necessary.

 _Of course_ Devlin Davenport needed her full attention. She couldn't have a moment to herself. He was like a child who couldn't yet walk without holding onto his mother's skirts. His only asset, beside his bank account, were his tanned good looks, but those were quickly waning. His hairline was thinning constantly and he was already growing some unattractive jowls.

"Honestly, Devlin, are you surprised when you're still talking about that game of golf?" she asked boldly, glancing at him over the table with the shadow of a smirk.

Devlin huffed a little and seemed to grow red, but before he could look fully embarrassed, he smiled aggressively and took a sip from his wine glass.

Penny was not worried. In fact, she knew this is what he liked. Devlin, like most men his age with nothing to do but spend money, liked a challenge. Granted, they liked a challenge they could eventually win, but Devlin was confident about his victory and she was not about to spur his illusions. She just had to walk the thin line between impoliteness and flirtation.

"Then what would you like me to talk about? I'm at your disposal. Just say the word."

Penny threw her head back and stared at the chic ornate lamp hovering over their table. With her face in the shadows, she could make him believe she was attracted to him.

"Well, no more golf. Something fun, but not obscene. Use your imagination."

"I would, but it's occupied more pleasantly at the moment with that lovely dress you're wearing," he replied brazenly, throwing her a brilliant, wolfish grin.

"What did I just say about obscene?" she chided, but smiled indulgently.

"I'm not a great talker, I think you noticed. I'm more of a quiet observer."

"You? Quiet?" she scoffed.

"Oh, I can talk…about nothing most of the time. But if you want real conversation, you'd better start and I'll follow."

Penny smirked. This was as good an opportunity as any.

"So submissive. Fine, then. Let me ask you this. How much money are you willing to spend to get what you want?"

There was absolutely no subtlety in her question and he was aware, but not insulted, since money talk was titillating to him. Especially when _she_ was the one talking money.

"Depends on how much I want it."

"Let's say you want it quite a lot. Let's say you don't even know how much you want it. You just know you do. The ambiguity makes it more interesting."

Devlin swallowed and licked his lips. Half the time he had no idea what she was saying, but Penny Liss had a strange way with words and it was intoxicating to hear her talk; it was almost like being touched somewhere he hadn't been touched before. Only, she wasn't touching him at all. She was five feet away, which made it all the more alluring.

"In that case, the sum is ambiguous too," he replied, feeling very smart. He was heady from the wine and her shapely figure in the glowing yellow light made the whole thing seem like foreplay for something exciting and dangerous.

"Remember where we first met?" she asked all of a sudden.

Devlin's alarms went off in his head.

Penny waved a hand and laughed. "Relax, it's not a test. You know where we met."

"Of course I do," he replied casually, exhaling through his mouth. "The Thomas Wayne Foundation awards."

"That's right. You spent quite an _ambiguous_ sum that night. Remember?"

"I remember you had something to do with it," he spoke, recalling how she had sat next to him at the dinner party and leaned her warm body over his to whisper something in his ear.

Penny smiled, extending her hand over the table. She was suddenly touching his hand, but no, not quite, she was fingering his gold watch. His breath hitched slightly in his throat.

"It's funny, because I'm not sure which cost more, the donation you made that night or this new watch you're wearing. I like it. It suits you."

He had the sudden instinct to offer it to her. "Take it, just take it," he was almost about to say, but he stopped himself in time and instead pressed his own palm over her hand.

"Is this about the watch or you?"

Penny smiled shyly, momentarily disarming him. "You caught me. It's definitely about me. I'm being silly, but I need to know you want me more than you want this watch."

Devlin laughed with relief. "Oh, believe me, that's not even a point of debate –"

"Then," she said, silencing him with a finger, "there are no ambiguous sums. You're willing to spend or you're not."

Devlin clenched his fists the way a runner does right before a race. He felt his weight shifting. Women, in his experience, were a lot more discreet about this.

"You're saying you're hard maintenance. I can handle that. I can handle anything you want."

Penny rolled her eyes, pursing her lips. Devlin panicked. What had he said? Was it something stupid?

"I'm not asking whether you're willing to spend _on_ me. I do very well on my own and I have plenty of people who could offer instead. I'm asking if you're willing to spend _for_ me."

Devlin seemed to understand, although the full meaning of her words still escaped him, as always.

"I – I am."

"That's all I needed to hear. You probably know about the Gala we're hosting in two weeks' time. Martha Wayne Foundation, this time around. It should be exciting. I'll be expecting you. Only you."

Devlin felt beads of sweat trailing down his back. His skin was cold. He lunged for his glass of wine and grinned at her nervously. He wanted to fuck her badly and she already knew that, which meant he was in trouble, but he had already said yes, so he had to do it, didn't he? He had to go to the Gala. He wished there was a way he could have his cake and eat it, too. But Penny Liss came with responsibilities.

He was beginning to have buyer's remorse, but he was also strangely excited. He kept telling himself that, in a month or two, he wouldn't have to jump through all these hoops anymore and all of this would be worth it. He looked forward to it.

"You ordered dessert," she suddenly spoke, looking up.

A waiter was rolling in a tray with different assortments from which she assumed they were going to choose.

Devlin chuckled, springing back into action as if the previous conversation hadn't happened.

"Well, after you made me wait for half an hour, I thought it was my right. I know you don't like it, but you'll have to eat it with me."

Penny smiled indulgently. "You're both punishing me and spoiling me."

The waiter presented the various desserts on display, ranging from lemon and fresh raspberry dacquoise to crème caramel and chocolat noir soufflés.

"The lady may try a taste from each," the waiter added.

"Each?"

Devlin smiled broadly. "I couldn't decide, so I ordered the whole list."

Penny shook her head. "You are incorrigible."

"Maybe this will convince you I'm willing," he added quietly.

Penny narrowed her eyes slightly as she took a bite of the crème caramel. He was such a simple-minded idiot to think ordering the whole menu would make him look better in her eyes. He was acting a little passive aggressive, though, which meant she had to offer him something tonight. He was confident enough to show up by her side in two weeks' time at the Gala, but if he went to bed sour tonight, it might not happen at all.

She decided she'd let him drive her home. She wouldn't let him come up, but, depending on his preferences, she'd let him have some fun in the car. She wouldn't mind it too much. She missed a little fun. She couldn't remember the last time she had let her hair down with someone.

And she found she liked the crème caramel. Maybe J. Devlin Davenport could prove useful in more ways than one.

Her spoon jammed into something a little bit harder than the soft fluff of the crème. She started to pick it out idly as her mind went over the various tasks she still had left to do at home.

At length, the whole piece came out on the plate. It was no bigger than her thumb. It had the consistency of gum or rubber. She looked at it in amusement.

_So much for La Marseillaise's reputation._

As she turned it around with her spoon, she realized it was actually made of clay. Its shape was distinct, almost recognizable.

Penny coughed awkwardly and felt saliva building up in her throat, constricting her air tract. Her breath came in and out at irregular intervals. Her spoon was still hovering over the clay bat.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" she suddenly said, still looking down at her plate.

Devlin looked up from his copious plate filled with cream puffs and savarins.

"Are you all right? I probably got ahead of myself with the sweet tooth," he laughed awkwardly. "If you're worried about your figure –"

"I just have to make a phone call, I'll be back in a moment," she said flatly as she got up from the table.

Devlin looked after her a little put off. What had he done now? He thought the evening was going well.

_Jesus Christ, she's impossible._

But as he sat there, waiting for her like a loyal dog, his appetite waning with each moment, he realized she was not coming back.

* * *

Penny didn't even care if the taxi driver could see the gun. She was gripping her Glock 38 between her sweaty hands, looking out at the disappearing traffic with impatience. From time to time, she urged the driver to go faster. Her body was vibrating with adrenaline and any momentarily delay was torture. In the back of her mind she knew she had left Devlin waiting like an idiot at the restaurant, but at the moment, the Gala, the sponsors, the Foundations, Wayne Enterprises – the whole thing really – were only a vast array of imaginary objects that had nothing to do with her. She could not see their purpose beyond walling her in against an inevitable outcome. _Why_ had she even bothered with them to begin with? _What_ did they matter? She couldn't, for the life of her, remember.

 _This,_ however, mattered. _This_ was real.

She had been living so many months with nightly obsessions and panic attacks, and just when she had finally managed to feign ignorance, just when she had found her niche of comforting numbness, the whole thing had come crashing down in one day.

Of course, she was supposed to call the police. The sound thing was to wait for the police. But what would she tell them? That she'd come across a beige shirt, a can opener and a clay bat and all these things led her to assume that – that _he_ –

She couldn't even say it, much less report it to the police. It was absurd to enumerate a list of objects that meant _absolutely_ nothing to anyone else but _her_.

This was an invitation, as much as it was a goodbye.

The police would deprive her of a much needed resolution. And she sorely needed that resolution.

The whole thing would be over in minutes. She would probably die. The thought of it made her feel strangely at peace with herself. It would finally be over.

_Over._

The word triggered a sense of relief she had not felt in months. She realized she had been holding the weight of it for so long that living had become a chore. She could feel the sob building up in her throat, but she pushed it back, because she could cry later. First she had to _see_ him, first she had to confirm he was _physically_ there, and then she could cry as much as she liked.

 _Oh God, I'm happy and terrified and miserable_ , she realized all at once.

Penny gripped the gun harder. She'd die happy and terrified and miserable.

* * *

"I'm here. You can come out."

Her voice was strong and clear, made of pure terror. He must have heard her.

"Come out. I know you're here."

Her throat was raw. She felt it was bleeding. A burning liquid was pooling in her stomach.

She held the gun over her elbow, her muscles flexing and unflexing with each new sound that crept through her apartment. She had expected to find him in the elevator. He was not there.

Penny stepped further inside.

"Stop hiding. I-I got your message."

But the more she spoke, the more ridiculous it sounded, so she waited quietly.

After a while, she realized he was not going to make this easy for her. She had to find him.

And just like so many months before, she began the slow and torturous search through her apartment.

Penny had no idea how she was still walking, much less standing, but her body seemed to have a mind of its own. She stopped at each doorway and held the gun to her side before jumping out and aiming it at the empty space where his body should have been. He wasn't there.

The idea had never entered her head that _she_ might kill _him_. She had got a license and she had bought firearms, she had practiced her targets at the shooting range, but she had done all of this almost mechanically, like a conscientious student that fulfils all the conditions which ensure their survival. She had become a public figure and had gone out in the open with the sole purpose of making it harder for him to strike. It was self-defense, but certainly not _offense_. As long as she was entrenched in the safe spaces she had cultivated around her, she was going to live. But once he entered those spaces, she did not believe a gun would keep her alive.

In fact, she did not expect him to fall down if a bullet did hit him. She expected him to finish the job, no matter what. She realized such thoughts were almost suicidal, but she had waited two years for this. And she was going to get her closure. It didn't seem to matter anymore what the result of that closure would be. It only mattered that she would be free, finally.

Except that, every room in her apartment was empty; the kitchen, the study, the living area, the bathroom, the bedroom, even the changing room. All empty. All the same continuous vacuum of "not Jack". She stood out on the small balcony. The sultry city air bore no trace of him. She went back inside. She searched through her closets and drawers, pushing the clothes back with the barrel of the gun. The vacuum surrounded her.

But he _had_ to be here. That much she was certain about. She just had to _find_ him.

"P-Please come out," she cried out at length. "I can't do this anymore."

Even when he had plunged that knife into her leg, the pain had been smaller somehow than this slow evisceration of her being.

"Why won't you just –" _set me free_.

But she stopped, because he was not going to listen.

She wanted to beg him, _please, please, please_ , but it would not do. He wanted her to come to him, not the other way around.

After two exhausting hours, she collapsed on her bed, gun in her lap, head hanging down in her chest with shame.

This was exactly, _exactly_ like that night at the Levensteins'. She had been so certain he had been there. So certain he had put the lipstick on the nightstand. She had searched for him in the dead of the night like a mad woman in an asylum. She had wanted it to be true, because it would have been easier. It would have been over.

Two years later, she was still waiting, wanting and searching.

And he had humiliated her once again. He had shined a light on her which clearly showed how easily she would surrender. She felt disgusted with herself.

 _You want to die so badly?_ a cynical voice asked in her head. _What about Lucius? What about Rachel? What about Dent? What about Mrs. Levenstein? What about things that matter? What about_ _ **you**_ _?_

Maybe this was his real punishment. Maybe this was the final, fatal blow. He would terrorize her, make her think he was there, make her think he was _right_ behind her, and then he'd disappear on her, just like _that_. He didn't have to do anything. He just had to watch her go mad with self-loathing and doubt. It was a magic trick and she fell for it every single time.

After all, that could have been a random shirt one of her neighbors had left with Martin. The can opener could have landed there by mistake, the office lounge was close by. And the clay bat, well, did it even really look like a bat, or had it just been her imagination taking things out of proportion? It had probably been a piece of hardened sugar, not clay.

Everything could have been in her head. Everything _was_ in her head. He couldn't have been to her apartment building, to her office, to La Marseillaise.

 _I need to take my pills_ , she suddenly thought and ordinary, common-sense reality settled around her quite unexpectedly. It was already close to midnight and she still had so much to do. She had to shower and do her breathing exercises. She had to prepare the notes for next week's press conference on the Gala. She had to read that final chapter of _A_ _Pragmatic Revolt in American History_. She had to sleep.

The order, the list, the tasks, it was a careful rehearsal that ensured perpetuity and survival.

But first, she had to put the gun away.

Stumbling more than walking, she reached her dressing room, knelt down to her sock drawer, pulled the compartment open, put her fingers on the scanner and punched in the code.

The metal casing slid open.

She wanted to put the Glock 38 back where it belonged, except there was something in its place.

A piece of paper. A crumpled piece of paper whose writing was barely legible anymore.

Penny picked it up gingerly and spread it between her palms.

_"And so, we leave today the secure walls of an institution that has, for the most part, only required a firm grasp of theory and we leap into the great unknown of corporate strategic planning."_

Penny recognized her valedictorian speech word for word. It was the same piece of paper. The sweaty imprint of her hands and his had molded it into a blunt, disfigured relic of the closed universe of the Bloomherst elevator.

The relic had been spoiled, however. Her name, written at the bottom of the page, had been cut through with a deep red line. In its place, the ruby letters of fresh writing spelled out the name he had given her.

_Moneypenny._

The scream came from somewhere outside her body, entered her limbs against her will and made her press her hand to her mouth as she howled into the skin of her palm.

She did not know for how long she muffled her screams.

At one point, she got up blindly and wandered through her apartment. She ransacked her bag on the bed and pushed all her belongings to the floor. She had enough sense not to throw her phone.

She dialed one number, only one.

Lieutenant James Gordon was not expecting such a late call from her and when he answered, he already sounded concerned.

"Miss Liss? Is everything all right? I haven't heard from you in a while –"

"He's back. He's back."

* * *

He knew she was always on time. And he was always on time, too.

She woke up early, around half past four, if he had to guess. He would imagine the way she rose from bed and placed her toes on the cold hard floor. She had no rugs in her bedroom. He was certain of it. She liked the feeling of hardness on her skin. It reminded her that each day was the same; a fight with your sleeping instincts. He hadn't seen the room yet, but he knew its architecture by heart. He could outline every crease on the bed. He could see the hollow where her body lay every night. It was preemptive knowledge. Everything of hers was his, either way.

He was taking his time, tasting all aspects of her life. He wasn't going to rush it.

He wasn't going to invade each space like a hungry lover. He was going to stand back and corner her, until all other spaces disappeared.

At half past six on the dot she would emerge out of the apartment building.

And he would close his eyes and hold the image on the retina until it stung and turned red; a woman-girl shaped like an arrow, shooting straight towards the open door of a private company car. Her head already bent, eyes shielded, hand gripping the phone she had placed next to her ear. All her senses were distracted and engaged away from him.

The proud little corporate, whose soul had become a wasteland and whose body was now a closed office. He was repelled by it, but he craved it with his very core.

It always started the same for him.

He would cross the street in two strides and open the opposite door.

She would fall on her back with a thump. He would give her some time to breathe it in, some time to look up into his eyes and smile a sharp, terror-stricken smile of recognition.

His hand would spread her lips apart and his fingers would creep inside her mouth, probing the darkness without restraint. He would stick his hand further down her throat, so she could taste more of him, so he could touch more of her. His fist would reach her larynx, and there, he would spread his fingers and crush her vocal cords. He would travel further down her esophagus and squeeze her lungs shut. He would reach the valves of her heart and suck them dry, until her heart shriveled and curled up in his palm. He would drill a hole in her ribs and stay in the depths of that darkness, clinging to her bones until they, too, were crushed into powder under his fingers.

His whole body, he would push his whole body inside her mouth.

It would be bliss.

Inside her, he would _be_.

By then, the image was gone from his retina. And the car would be gone too.

Would she scream, he wondered, when he was finally inside her?

Jack smiled almost wistfully.

Yes, yes she would scream.

But Moneypenny, _his_ Moneypenny, was nothing if not discreet. She would press a hand to her mouth and the scream would only be a whisper on the skin of her palm.

She did not know that, in doing so, she would block his only exit and lock him inside her forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Street names and neighbourhood names, other than Bloomherst, are taken from comic book canon, or movie canon. As for J. Devlin Davenport, he is a character in the DC comics and he's pretty identical with my version of him in this story.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the kudos and the comments :)


	12. Chapter 12

"Penny, I need you to see things my way."

She had been falling in and out of sleep for several hours, hoping every time she opened her eyes that she would be somewhere else. She was lying down on the precinct's couch, huddled under Lieutenant Gordon's heavy coat. Perhaps nowhere else was better.

She watched the man in front of her pace worriedly. Gordon wanted something from her, something she could not give at the moment.

"The federal witness protection program is the best solution for you, under the circumstances," he pressed on.

Penny kept shaking her head.

"No. No. You know I can't."

"I know you _should_."

Penny closed her eyes. "I can't run from this."

"You wouldn't be running," Gordon argued. "You would be putting yourself out of danger."

"And I'd be putting others _in_ danger."

Gordon sat down in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. The white locks were getting more prominent.

"You have to worry about yourself, Miss Liss. Not others."

Penny shook her head. "It's the same thing whether I worry about myself or others. I'm not running."

"When you called me two hours ago, you sounded like you would."

"You're wrong, I – I sounded afraid. I still am. I'm petrified. But I'm not leaving."

The door to the office opened quietly and a familiar figure stepped inside. He crouched down to Penny's side and swept a lock of hair from her face.

"Penelope. I'm here. It's all right."

Lucius Fox was cradling her head, forcing her to look at him. His face was set and determined, but his eyes were sympathetic.

She hadn't called him, but he knew, of course. He was the first to know.

"I'm so sorry this had to happen. I assure you I have taken matters very seriously and everything is under control," he spoke carefully, not once breaking eye contact. "Your apartment is being dusted for fingerprints as we speak. I made sure a thorough investigation is taking place. Of course, you can't live there anymore."

At this, Lieutenant Gordon intervened.

"Perhaps you can convince Miss Liss that the best course of action is the federal witness protection program. This is obviously an elaborate mechanism designed to threaten and bully her. She would be safe from that…man. At least until we have managed to catch him."

Lucius turned to look at the weary-looking lieutenant. He managed to inspire respect, despite his downcast posture. He was beginning to understand why Bruce was attached to him.

"That may take some time, seeing as it has been two years and he is still at large. I see we both want what's best for Miss Liss, Lieutenant. But I can't take this choice away from her."

Penny sat up, holding the coat around her shoulders. Her head felt dizzy. She was exhausted, and all she could see was the red ink on her valedictorian speech.

"Thank you, Lucius. I know the Lieutenant is worried, but I – I have to stay."

Perhaps they would never really understand her reasons, and she herself would wonder, years from now, why she had chosen this path. But she had not forgotten the relief which had flooded her when she had seen her speech in her gun compartment.

Yes, relief.

The doubt was finally over. He was no longer just a ghost she had conjured from nightmares. He was no longer just her trauma. He had crawled back into existence, and though the mere notion of his proximity made her stomach turn each time, she preferred it to his ominous absence.

_Better the devil you know._

"There's a Gala in two weeks, Lucius." She spoke fast, afraid she might forget the words. "I still want to hold that Gala. It's mine. It's my project."

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "Penelope –"

"I need to."

"We need to think about your safety first."

"I _am_. I – Gotham _can_ keep me safe. You and Lieutenant Gordon can keep me safe."

"Until when, Penny?" Gordon asked sadly.

"Until I can put my affairs into order. But I'm not running."

"What is the point of it, Miss Liss?" Gordon persisted.

"The point? The point is I worked hard. And I won't throw it away."

Her face had grown taut and hard and Lucius had to tip her chin up to get her to look at him. He always liked to see her eyes, believing he could gouge the truth from them. But they were always sealed from him, always looking further than he could imagine.

She had that look in her eyes now.

"There's another reason, isn't there?"

Penny gently wrenched her head away.

"It's easy for him to find me in dark corners. Hiding spots are familiar to him. He's been hiding for a long time. He won't come after me in public, where everyone can see him."

"Why not?"

Penny smiled bitterly.

"Because then, everyone will see his scars."

* * *

As the car sped through the morning lights, Penny thought about Martin, the kind doorman who always smiled so graciously at her. Had he been in on it, too? Had Jack fooled him, paid him? What about the people at the office? Which of her employees had been manipulated? And Devlin? What if he was just a pawn in Jack's game?

She suspected everyone and everything. It was getting to the point where she wondered whether she herself had not invited all these terrible incongruities in her life.

Whom could she trust? Lucius? Gordon? Mrs. Levenstein? Rachel? Harvey Dent?

All of these people, they only wanted to protect her. What did they _really_ want?

It was sickening how they had all been tainted and spoiled by this shadow.

She leaned her forehead against the cool window. Right now, the driver could stop, pull her out and hand her over to Jack.

She peered at his rigid back, his gloved hands on the steering wheel.

Penny laughed a short, nervous laugh.

How stupid. The driver. Giving her to Jack. As if she were a possession to give. As if Jack had come back for presents.

No, he had come back for retribution.

* * *

Bruce tapped his fingers on the conference table to the rhythm of Lucius' words, as if he was measuring their gravity by the sounds the wood made each time he applied pressure. He did not look as preoccupied with the situation as Lucius, which unnerved the already concerned CEO.

"Mr. Wayne, pardon for asking, but you're taking this well."

"Am I? I'm a little distracted, I guess."

"Might I ask what has gotten you so aloof?"

"Well, I keep thinking it's not a good idea," he confessed, looking up at his friend.

Lucius frowned. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Miss Liss temporarily staying here."

"Ah. You already said yes yesterday. Why bring it up now?"

"I've been mulling over it all night."

"And what conclusion have you drawn?" Lucius asked, eyebrows raised.

"That the Wayne Tower penthouses are not really safe. Or appropriate, given the circumstances."

"On the contrary; given the circumstances, it's the safest place for her. This building is impregnable. She'll be atop a fortress."

"Don't forget she'll be close to the dungeons, too," Bruce reminded him. There was an edge to his voice that hadn't been there moments before. "She's already digging into the Applied Sciences division."

"That's because some amateur reports won't quit while they're ahead –"

"Don't tell me she hasn't wondered about the secrecy. Don't tell me she hasn't asked you."

Lucius bowed his head. He couldn't lie. Penny Liss was curious and inquisitive by nature.

"At this time, I don't think her mind is occupied with anything else but that man."

"And that's a dangerous mindset. Right now, she sees everyone as the enemy. Even you. And she has every right; our fortress was breached."

"Not necessarily," Lucius argued. "He wouldn't have to get inside to leave souvenirs –"

"He'd only have to buy the right people, which is worse."

"Mr. Wayne, I don't think that man has power over us, I think he is playing an act to make us _think_ he has power –"

"I don't see the difference."

Lucius smiled. "You're starting to sound like me, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce sighed. "Sometimes I think you _want_ her to find out the truth."

Lucius tilted his head. "That's funny, because I was thinking the same thing about you."

* * *

Preparations for the Gala were in full swing. The newspapers were beginning to hear rumors about a possible scandal involving the young CEO's assistant, but so far, they could whiff nothing other than a date with J. Devlin Davenport at La Marseillaise. Lieutenant Gordon and Lucius Fox had done their job right and Jack was still a shadow on the wall and nothing more, but if he decided to become flesh again, there was little they could do.

Penny had, with some reservations, moved into the Wayne Tower penthouse. The official public reason given for this was Penny's need to be closer to her work environment and the stressful preparations for the Gala. The press had picked up the news, but found it uninteresting. A pair of disgruntled reporters was certain this had something to do with the Applied Sciences division, but their story was not as interesting as a possible "hookup" between one of Gotham's top millionaires and a young ingénue.

Penny knew she had to bet on Devlin to avert public attention from anything Jack-related. After her abrupt departure from La Marseillaise, she could not hope he would want to see her so soon, but lo and behold, Devlin answered on the second ring of her phone call.

"Miss Liss. I was beginning to wonder. Usually it's the guy who keeps the girl waiting in front of the phone."

Penny wanted to lurch. She was walking up and down her new home, looking over seating charts for the Gala and trying to act like everything was at least partially normal. The walls didn't cave in on her anymore. The red ink had stopped flashing before her eyes. But every once in a while she had to look over her shoulder to make sure there was no one behind her. The Penthouse was too luxurious and stifling to pretend that she was only there for business. It was a gilded prison that kept others out and trapped her within.

She inhaled and smiled into the phone.

"I'm not a very traditional girl."

"I've noticed."

"I'm really sorry I had to flee last week. I'm married to my work. You're the extramarital affair." She gagged on her own words. Her self-loathing only made the words more convincing.

"Oh, so I should be honored, then. But how do you know I'm the only affair?" he teased.

Penny looked over her shoulder. She heaved a sigh.

"You think I have time for other men?"

"Come on, we both know there's at least one more."

Penny's skin prickled. She sucked in a breath and walked to the windows. She pulled back the blinds an inch and peeked at the bright sky. From that height, Gotham City looked like a miniature playground. She could blow softly and the pieces would fly away.

"You know more than I do, then."

"Well, I know he's someone I can't compete with, but I'll try."

Penny gripped the phone until her knuckles turned white.

"Who the fuck are you talking about, Devlin?"

She hadn't meant to snap. She hadn't meant for it to come out like this. She was supposed to bat her eyelashes and flirt. But he was toying with her, he had left clay bats in her dessert, he might be one of Jack's….

"I – I only meant – sorry, it was only a joke. I know you and Lucius are professionals. He's like a father to you, isn't he?"

_Oh. He meant Lucius. He meant Lucius._

She closed her eyes.

"Yes. I'm sorry, yes. I'm just a bit on edge right now. This Gala is driving me insane."

"I can tell… you don't swear much. I have to say, it's a little bit sexy."

Penny rolled her eyes.

"Listen Devlin, I called because I wanted to check if I can still count on you."

"To attend your Gala, you mean?"

"Yes, of course."

She could practically see Devlin's smug smirk. "That depends…I have to find a date for the occasion."

"And I have to find someone to take home afterwards, but I think we can come to an agreement."

She heard Devlin choking on his own breath.

"I – yeah, I'd love to do that –"

"See you there, Davenport," she said, clicking the phone shut.

* * *

"We've put out an APB on the guy, in case he appears in Gotham's vicinity."

"But he's _in_ the city –" Penny argued, looking back and forth between Lucius and Lieutenant Gordon.

"Yes, but it doesn't hurt to be on the lookout everywhere."

"Miss Liss, sorry to bother you, the baked goods caterer wants to talk to you about the delivery packages –"

"That mainly concerns Casey, she's in charge of food –"

"I know, Miss Liss, but I can't seem to track her down and she's under your supervision, so I thought –"

"It's all right. Excuse me, gentlemen, I'll be right back."

The three of them were walking around the Sommerset Stadium's main facilities. Several officers were hovering in the background, pretending to implement the new security measures, but actually trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.

The plan, as Penny understood it, was not to stand down and raise a defense, but rather stand up and pull an offense. They were going to lure Jack at the Stadium and trap him there.

"And you think he's going to fall for that?" she had rightfully queried them.

"I think he wants a confrontation as soon as possible and we're going to give it to him," Lucius had argued.

"He waited this long, what makes you think he won't wait anymore?"

"What makes you think he _will_ , Miss Liss?" Gordon had recanted.

At the time, she had agreed. Now, as she walked down to the kitchens with one of the assistants, she felt once more that it was all a terrible idea. These things never worked out as you planned them. And she didn't feel comfortable with the idea of being used as bait. Jack would see through it. Then again, he might show up anyway and risk the consequences.

Just as she was about to enter the kitchens, a loud crash was heard right behind her, and before she had time to catch her breath, her hand had already gone straight to the weapon in her purse. She was about to whip out her gun when one of the electricians repairing the lighting in the ball room yelled "Sorry! My bad!" for dropping one of the optical amplifiers.

Penny sighed wearily, shoving the gun back in her purse.

"Um, no offense, Miss Liss, but is it really safe to carry that around?"

Penny turned on the girl. She was new, had been hired two weeks previously and was obviously not aware of how things operated.

"It's safe for the officers, why wouldn't it be safe for me?"

"Well, they know how to use it and have a permit."

"What makes you think I can't use it and don't have a permit?" she asked sternly.

The assistant looked down meekly.

"I'm sorry, Miss Liss, I didn't mean anything by it."

"No, you didn't, but next time, mind your own tasks."

"Yes, of course, it's just that –"

And then the girl was close to her, too close, and whispering something in her ear. Her hot breath tickled Penny's earlobe.

"It won't be any use, will it?" she spoke in a low, insidious voice.

The red ink flashed before her eyes. In a matter of moments, she had pushed the girl off of her and pinned her against the wall. Penny held both her arms in a tight grip.

"Who sent you? Who the hell are you?"

"Miss Liss, what are you –"

"Tell me! Did he send you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about –"

"Stop lying!"

"You're hurting me –"

"That's not an answer."

"I swear, I don't know!"

"Then _why_ did you say that?"

"Miss Liss, I didn't say anything!" The girl had tears in her eyes.

Penny scowled. "You whispered in my ear, why did you do that?"

"I didn't do anything, I swear, I was just waiting for you to go through the kitchen doors."

The girl looked terrified, to say the least.

Penny slowly took in her surroundings. Some of the electricians had stopped working and were staring at them. What if Lieutenant Gordon and Lucius went after her and found her like this, with her assistant pinned underneath her?

Penny stepped back and let her go.

"I apologize. I've forgotten your name."

"B-Becky."

"Becky. I'm very sorry for my reaction, it was not my intention to scare you. I have been under a lot of stress and I fear it's getting to me. Please take the rest of the day off."

Becky stared at her wide-eyed.

"Take the day off?"

"Yes. I won't be requiring your services for the day."

"Are – are you firing me?"

"No! You know what? Why don't you go back to the offices and see if you can help with anything there. Okay?"

"Yes, Miss Liss."

Becky didn't wait to be told twice. She was gone before her boss had anything else to say.

Penny closed her eyes in frustration. At this rate, she'd have to fire all her staff or get herself committed.

She pushed open the swinging kitchen doors and hoped that she wouldn't have to attack another member of her personnel.

* * *

The remaining days until the Gala were uneventful and even deceitfully peaceful. Jack had disappeared again, swallowed by the masses of Gotham city in a smoke of illusions. The only sign of his presence were the little gifts he had left behind. The police had found no fingerprints in her apartment or at work. The valedictorian speech, of course, was so much of him and her that nothing could be made out of it. There was no new set of fingerprints on it, only the old sweat and fear of those hours in the dark.

Penny lay awake at night unable to sleep, unable to close her eyes. There were no nightmares; there was only emptiness. When you are as terrified as she was, there are no images that fill up your mind, only blankness, a terrible white blankness.

She would touch the scar on her leg, the scar he had left when he had stabbed her, and she would tell herself she was ready to face him, that he could not surprise her anymore, but evidently, she didn't believe that.

Consequently, by the time the night of the Gala came around, she was sleep-deprived and exhausted to the point where everything around her seemed to fade into the background. She had worked herself to the bone, but Penny had never shied away from hard work. In fact, hard work made her glow; it gave her an aura of serenity. She always looked best when she worked her hardest. Now, the hours spent toiling over her pet project only emphasized the weight of her burden. No matter how much coffee she drank or how many painkillers she took, she felt that at any moment she might take flight or burst apart.

_It'll be over soon._

Three hours before she had to head downstairs to meet with Lucius in the lobby of Wayne Tower, she decided to take a bath instead of her regular shower. She stood naked in the giant marble bathtub of the penthouse and let the water fall on her body until she was almost submerged. She kept her eyes closed. She knew that if she opened them, the water might be red. Ink or blood, or both.

Her hand traveled to her stomach and then reached further down, until she was touching herself in a way she hadn't done in months. No, not months. Almost two years had lapsed. She hadn't touched herself like that since him. She tried to think of what turned her on. She didn't know anymore. Before him, she could summon up images that would get her off quickly. Now, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of anything _but_ him. Her fingers moved clumsily. She was out of practice. She cleared her head and decided to let her mind wander. Maybe she didn't need to think at all.

Maybe she wasn't lying on top of him. Maybe the paint fumes weren't making her dizzy. Maybe her fingers didn't linger on his scars when she wiped his mask away. Maybe the feeling of paint against her skin was not intoxicating. Maybe her sticky hands didn't fumble with his zipper. Maybe he didn't grab her waist and squeeze it until the air was gone. Maybe he didn't raise his head until his teeth grazed her breasts. Maybe he didn't bite.

Maybe his teeth left no marks. Maybe she didn't moan.

She burst out of the water. "No!"

Her scream was both denial and surrender.

* * *

The screech of her heels on the parquet floor was a nasty foreboding for her staff. They all turned their heads like deer caught in the headlights.

Penny had gathered her assistants around her for one last session before the doors to the stadium would open.

"Don't look so down. Tonight's your night. You've worked so hard and now you can finally reap the labor of that work. Of course, you're not supposed to slack. This night will only be a success if your last day is your _finest_. Our goal? We want to make an impact, we want to stand out among charity events because we dare to tackle the issues of the elderly. We're not popular, but we're professional. We can't win them with sentimentality, but we will win them over with efficiency. Of course…do try to have some fun while you're at it, too."

She noticed the anemic looks she was getting from the young people around her. They weren't exactly enthusiastic. In their defense, she was not very good at pep talks.

"We're a team, aren't we?" she added stupidly.

They murmured their agreement noncommittally.

"Come on, I didn't hear you."

They raised their voices, but the enthusiasm was still missing. Penny knew they were just as tired as she was, if not more.

"Okay, good enough. Let's make tonight count."

She could see the way they exchanged glances between each other. They were surprised. Penny Liss didn't settle for "good enough". She would make them say exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it and would not accept an alternative.

And now she had suddenly decided their tired reactions were "good enough"?

Either she was inordinately relaxed, or far more nervous than they were.

* * *

Devlin was impatient. He kept putting his hand over her chair in the vain hope that she would look at him, but Penny was all eyes and ears elsewhere. The stage had been taken by a decrepit war veteran who was pleading his case and thanking the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundations for tonight's opportunity to make a difference. It was all rather boring, but if he had voiced such a thought, Penny would have despised him for all eternity.

Then, just when the old man's speech was winding down and he thought he'd have his chance to whisper into her ear jokingly about "quitting this joint earlier", she got up in a flurry and rushed to the other end of the room, leaving him empty-handed once again.

She was running towards an old woman – who else? Tonight was full of old people. It looked like an asylum, but for the cocktails and hors d'oeuvres – an old woman who smiled benevolently and gathered her in her arms.

The problem was, Penny was coming back to their table _with_ this old woman.

"Devlin, I'd like you to meet Marjorie Levenstein, one of the best nurses in this country, now retired unfortunately. She has been very helpful with the Gala."

The old woman shook her hand impatiently. "My dear, I only gave a suggestion here and there."

The conversation went on in this fashion and Devlin struggled to appear interested. And then the old woman mentioned Bloomherst.

"I'm sorry to say the place is more run down than ever. It's got a bit of a reputation now, of course. No one wants to live there anymore, yet everyone wants to _see_ it. All these young kids, journalists, keep coming in and out. You'd think they're going to find some hidden treasure."

"Is the elevator still in use?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. He knew right away it had been a gauche thing to say, but he was getting tired of keeping quiet and waiting for Penny to give him attention.

"Why, yes, it…it is," the old woman replied, casting worried glances at Penny.

"Hm. They should have shut it down," he remarked in what he hoped was a well-meaning tone.

He was promptly saved by one of Penny's minions coming to get her. She was needed backstage. He didn't catch much, something about the Gotham Church Elderly Choir getting ready to perform a hymn.

He was left in the company of Marjorie Levenstein.

"Excuse me, dear, perhaps this question finds you unprepared, but are you Penelope's…beau?"

Devlin coughed. "I…think so. But you never know with Penny. She's a bit unpredictable. I might be, I might not be."

"My Penny? Goodness, no! She has a plan and a project for everything!"

"You'd be surprised."

"But are you serious about her? She's an excellent young woman, as you can see for yourself."

Devlin felt trapped. There was no right answer to such a final question. He took a sip of his warm wine.

"I am serious about everything, Mrs. Levenstein."

He felt that was a judicious remark.

* * *

"Good God, how did this happen?"

One of the members of the Gotham Church Elderly Choir needed to be taken to the hospital. A partial heart attack.

Penny held Mr. Gardiner's hand as one of the butlers performed first-aid maneuvers. She had hired two nurses to be on staff tonight, but they were conveniently absent. Her assistants were running around disoriented. They had prepared for this kind of situation, seeing as most of their special guests were old people, yet they were still shocked. They had called for an ambulance, but could do little else, since the Choir couldn't go on stage now. Mr. Gardiner was one of the lead singers.

"What's next on the schedule?" she asked, trying to sound as calm as if she were simply checking her notes.

"Gotham News legend Tony Shard will present the news live one more time before retirement," Jason, a lanky ginger recited nervously.

"Well, he'll have to go on right now. I'm going to get Mrs. Levenstein. She is a nurse, she'll know what to do until the ambulance arrives."

She gave strict orders not to let Mr. Gardiner out of sight. He was a spry old man and kept insisting he was fine.

Tony Shard, meanwhile, was making his way on stage in his charming fashion, scratching his salt-and-pepper beard while he casually waved at the cheering audience. He was delighted he would be the center of attention one last time and in front of Gotham's top socialites. He was dressed in his best tux.

He sat behind his trademark desk they had brought over from his studios and raised his finger for the lights and cameras to roll.

He was receiving the newsfeed from online sources. Yes, he was rather embarrassed, but it was a new dawn and that is why he was leaving this new age to the younger generations.

Penny heard him start off in his usual brusque manner and she somehow felt comforted by that baritone voice.

"Good evening, Gotham. Here, for the very last time, are the news for tonight."

She reached Mrs. Levenstein just in time; Devlin was clearly out of his depth. The old woman was hounding him with questions about money and business and the stock exchange and while Devlin enjoyed discussing such things in sexual metaphors with someone like Penny, he absolutely dreaded dissecting them in the cold light of reality with someone he would never find sexually viable.

"I'm afraid you're needed, it's an emergency," she whispered in the old woman's ear.

She got up instantly, ready to go where there was trouble.

As they were both rushing across the floor, Penny's dress caught against one of the chairs.

Mrs. Levenstein held her arm. "Careful, sweetheart, this dress looks a million bucks, you don't want to ruin it."

Tony Shard's voice carried warmly across the ballroom.

"Hang on, it appears we have a last-minute piece. It's happening right now, folks, right as we sit here and sip champagne. The Gotham National Bank – why this must be some practical joke – The Gotham National Bank has been broken into by five masked individuals who are as yet to be identified –"

"It's a bit grim, don't you think? Reading the news at this hour, at this kind of event?" Mrs. Levenstein opined.

Penny held up her dress and waved her arm for the old woman to follow her backstage.

But Tony Shard's voice pierced through her concentration.

" – they are all wearing…clown masks, my sources tell me. This is quite extraordinary, ladies and gentlemen."

Penny turned her head, but all she could see was the reflector lights and Tony Shard's dark head.

Backstage, Mr. Gardiner was trying to walk. Marjorie pulled him back down with an authoritative hand.

"Now, now, settle down, dear."

"Unhand me, please – I – I have never even had a cold all my life."

"Yes, I believe you, now please chew this aspirin. Yes, _chew_ , not swallow…it's important…"

The assistants had disappeared. Vanished into thin air. It was just her, Mrs. Levenstein and Mr. Gardiner left. The latter was now weeping quietly as Mrs. Levenstein opened his mouth.

Penny wondered where they had all gone.

Then she heard it, the noise coming from the ballroom. The commotion. People were getting up, phones were being whipped out, numbers were being crunched. Voices, at first low, like insects, then louder and louder cut through Tony Shard's last stand.

"Go, Penny. I'll take care of him until the ambulance arrives," Mrs. Levenstein assured her.

But Penny felt she'd rather stay there, in the dark where it was warm and safe.

"Don't be afraid, sweetheart. It's probably the burglary that's got people in a fuss."

Penny smiled.

"Just our luck."

When she made her way back to the ballroom, it was unrecognizable. Now, not only Tony Shard but many others, young and old, were reading the news out loud. The old man looked utterly defeated as the caterers and servers started reading Twitter feeds.

"They say two civilians were shot –"

"Now they're saying they weren't civilians – it's the burglars that got shot!"

"What, all five?!"

"I don't know!"

"Who shot them? The police?"

"No! They shot each other!"

"That's a fairy tale! Why the hell would they shoot each other?"

"Misunderstanding?"

"Can someone turn on the TV already?"

"So did they manage to steal anything or …?"

"Bystanders say one burglar is alive! But the money's gone!"

"How would a bystander know _that_?"

Penny spotted two of her assistants and called out to them, but they either ignored her or didn't hear her. She was tempted to run onstage, take the microphone and try to talk some sense into everyone.

"Everyone, please remain calm," she spoke to whomever would be listening around her. She might as well have been invisible.

She made signs to the servers to stop reading the news out loud, but the guests and sponsors she could not tame. One particular middle-aged woman garbed in a sequin dress made sure to shout as loudly as possible that "the clowns are dead!"

She noticed, finally, that the two nurses she had hired were running around with their Blackberries, taking photos and texting furiously.

_Huh. That's odd._

Penny pressed a hand to her forehead. She should have known letting Tony Shard have his one last hurrah would be risky. The Gala was slowly but surely getting out of hand.

At this rate, she should probably cancel the surprise fireworks on the stadium. It would just incite more turmoil.

She was just about to call the man in charge of the fireworks, when one cold hand wrapped around her elbow and pulled her aside.

"Penny, you have to call it quits. People want to go home. They want to see what's happened. They want to call their lawyers and bankers. Half of the people in this room have an interest in the Bank. And…I'm one of them."

Devlin's voice was harsh, admitting no argument. He was no longer out of his depth. He was no longer vulgar and joking.

Penny nodded her head. "I understand…you can go, I will deal with things here."

Devlin frowned.

"Come on, I'm getting you home."

She could see from the corner of her eye, that the task force which had been called especially for the Gala, was leaving the building. So much for their plan to trap Jack.

Lieutenant Gordon was running towards her.

"Miss Liss, we should get you to a safe location –" he began, short of breath.

"I was just telling her that," Devlin claimed smugly, holding onto her shoulder. "She should come with me."

"Stop it the both of you. The danger's not here. The robbery has nothing to do with us," she argued, more with herself.

 _The clowns are dead!_ the woman kept screaming in her head.

"We can't ascertain that yet, Miss Liss. My boys are securing the streets as we speak, but we should get you to Wayne Tower. We are getting everyone home, so this isn't special treatment," Gordon continued unabated.

"Where's Lucius?" she asked, feeling utterly lost for the first time that evening.

"He has already left with Mr. Wayne. They…had some urgent business to see to."

Penny couldn't believe that Lucius would just leave her.

_Will you stop it? You sound just like them! He's not your father and you don't need protecting! Bruce Wayne is more important…pragmatically speaking._

Come to think of it, she hadn't even really seen Bruce Wayne tonight. She had been told he was attending, and she had secretly hoped to meet him in person, but now she wasn't sure anymore.

"Mr. Davenport, can you take care of Miss Liss?"

"My limo is bulletproof, for your information. I have two bodyguards and a driver," Devlin began heatedly.

"Then _go_. Go, Miss Liss. I'll be right behind you."

* * *

She sat by the window, watching as one of Devlin's bodyguards uncorked a bottle of wine.

"Helps with the nerves," Devlin explained awkwardly.

She refused the glass offered.

She wasn't nervous, that was the strange part. She wasn't really scared. After all, the robbers dressed like clowns had nothing to do with her. Nothing.

Devlin sipped loudly.

"I know you're disappointed, but I think you can hold the Gala again next week. I think people still want to hear that Elderly Choir."

Penny chuckled bitterly. "Funny."

"Just trying to lighten the mood."

The city lights were reflected on the limousine floor, yellow streaks that looked like birds…or bats.

She looked away.

It was then that one of the bodyguards shot the other one.

She forgot to scream.

Devlin was cowering on the sofa. One bodyguard was lying dead on the floor, a big black hole steaming in his forehead. The yellow streaks crossed his body indifferently. The other bodyguard was standing over Devlin's body, holding a gun to his back.

Penny opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

She looked into his face, but no, there was nothing there; he was just a man, a nameless, anonymous man. No scars, no Jack.

The bodyguard's gun was now poised to Devlin's head.

"W-Whaaaa…." Devlin trailed off pathetically. "Whaaat are you d-doing?"

Penny watched in sheer horror, unable to do anything but pull her knees to her chest.

Then the bodyguard turned towards her.

"You'll find a gun in the dead guy's vest. Go on, take it. But no funny business, or Mr. Davenport's brains are history."

Penny licked her lips. They were burning.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I said get the gun."

"Jesus, do it already!" moaned Devlin.

Penny lowered herself to the floor and, holding her breath, fished for the dead man's gun.

She found it strapped to his immobile chest. She took it out gingerly, feeling its dreadful weight, its cold solidity.

"Good, now sit down, and hold the gun in front of you."

Penny looked at Devlin. She tried to assuage him silently, tried to calm him down, but he was like a child who had seen the Boogey Man.

She did not understand why _she_ was not more terrified.

Except, she _was_. But terror had a way of being one step ahead of her.

"Now, check how many bullets you got left. Then, draw back the hammer. Go on. You've had training, haven't you?"

Penny stared at him.

"You would've had a gun with you, except you forgot your purse at the Gala."

_Jesus, I did._

She never let it out of her sight. She always kept one hand inside it. How could she have left it behind?

"How did you know?" she asked stupidly.

"That's a lovely dress you're wearing. Really makes your eyes pop," he replied and his tone took on a strange, familiar edge.

"It doesn't go with the purse, does it? No. It stands apart."

Penny shivered.

He had an earpiece, like all bodyguards. He listened to the voice in the earpiece.

She checked the bullets. _Bullet_. No plural. There was only one. He must have known she'd find only one.

"You…" she began, her throat dry.

"Me what?"

He had an earpiece. Someone was talking to him, telling him what to say.

"You…want me to draw the hammer?"

"That's what I said."

"Why?"

"Simple. You have to choose. Either I shoot him in the head, or…you shoot him in the balls."

Penny blinked.

The bodyguard smiled. Leered. Grinned.

"Yeah, you heard me right. To use a crude metaphor, heads or tails… _Moneypenny_? What will it be?"

Devlin was crying, sobbing hysterically.

"Penny, don't do it! Please, Jesus Christ!"

"I think he just realized it's not a metaphor," the bodyguard chuckled.

The car had stopped moving. They were standing still. But the world was spinning madly.

"I've kept my sense of humor intact for the occasion," he continued lightly. He was still smiling.

Penny closed her eyes.

"Gotham National Bank…" she began hoarsely.

"Will keep everyone occupied for a good while," came the reply. "But we can't waste the night away. So you'd best draw that hammer and make your choice. Cinderella's got till midnight."

It was so bizarre, hearing Jack's words coming out of this stranger's mouth.

"Tick tock."

She realized, with razor-sharp clarity, that he would do it. He would shoot Devlin in the head if she didn't act.

"Penny! Penny, don't! God!" Devlin cried out in misery.

The bodyguard sniggered. "So this is the fucker who's paying your dinners. He'd rather get shot in the head than get the family jewels…dented."

The words were so jarring, so calmly cheerful and foreign, that she drew the hammer anyway.

She raised the gun and aimed it at Devlin's lap.

"That's it. Good girl. Let's make sure he doesn't procreate."

Penny inhaled sharply.

She then turned the gun towards her. Aimed the barrel at her leg.

For the first time, she heard the bodyguard's words, and not Jack's.

"Boss…what am I supposed to do?"

A tense silence followed, during which only Devlin's scattered mewling could be heard.

Penny's hands were shaking but she held the gun to her leg anyway.

"Is this what you want, Jack? I'll do it. I'll do _it_."

Seconds ticked by as the bodyguard stood still, waiting for orders.

"Not making threats anymore?" she asked, but her voice was pleading, more than demanding.

He wasn't looking at her. His eyebrows were drawn together. He was listening carefully to what he was being told.

And then, he straightened up and met her eyes, his breach of character forgotten .

"Shoot yourself in the foot...? Little bit anticlimactic, don't you think?"

"Maybe, but I'll waste the only bullet I have. For your little game to work, I'd have to be armed. You want _me_ to shoot him. That's what you're counting on. That's the whole point."

The bodyguard watched her intensely.

"Sharp as always, Moneypenny."

"So," she said, shaking from the effort of keeping the calm facade, "what happens now?"

"Now? Now we put the paint on."

The bodyguard nodded. The gun traveled from Devlin's head to his lap.

Penny closed her eyes.

There was a shot. Not her shot, not her gun.

Devlin's bloodcurdling scream pierced through the night.

Penny was on her hands and knees. She was breaking the window with the gun. She was pushing against the door.

Against all odds, she was out.

Out in the cool night air. Out where the demons could catch her.

She ran desperately, holding onto the gun. The bodyguard wasn't following her. He wasn't going to. He was no longer part of this play.

She almost stumbled in the middle of the street. But she gripped the gun. One bullet, one bullet.

The traffic seemed distant, far away from her. Gotham itself was a forgotten memory.

 _How_? How was this street empty? But then, it wasn't a street. It was an alley.

And she was standing with her back to the wrong end.

"Wouldn't get your hands dirty, so you made _me_ do it. You business people are all the same."

She did not turn. Turning would be pointless. Turning would mean seeing.

"But let's not stand on ceremony. After all, this is a reunion."

He walked towards her, his steps echoing, clanging, banging on the asphalt.

"How about a welcome home kiss?"

And then he was right behind her. She could hear his hot breath, reaching out, tickling her hair.

"I – I still have one bullet, Jack."

"Then turn around and say hello."

Turning around would mean seeing. And she knew what she'd see first.

Penny held the gun with both hands and made sure they weren't shaking. If she missed this moment, she would miss everything after.

He was so close, the barrel almost hit his chest.

That was the first thing her eyes landed on.

His solid chest. As real as the brick wall behind her. It didn't seem possible, but there it was, made of living flesh. It rose and fell so calmly, so smoothly.

His fingers were on her chin, lifting it up by force.

Dark eyes met dark eyes.

She shrank back but there was nowhere to go. She hit the wall.

His mouth was red, his face was white. He was the mask she had stolen. He was the mask in the elevator. But now it was refined, poised to perfection. Finally, complete.

He was still ugly, deformed, concealed, but perfect, utterly perfect. The scars appeared and disappeared as the helicopters above shone their lights down on them.

"I'm a nice guy, Moneypenny. I want to warn you in…how do they put it? In _advance_. That's right. In advance."

Penny watched his red mouth.

"If you don't shoot now, if you don't stick that piece of metal in me, well…you're never getting rid of me again."

Penny drew back the hammer.

"F-Fine by me," she stammered.

Jack cocked his head to the side. He smirked, but it wasn't a smirk, it was a shark's bite.

"You know why I saved your life in that elevator? You can shoot me mid-sentence, I don't mind."

_He's playing with you. He won't let you shoot him. But you will._ _**You will.** _

"I saved your life just so I can watch this moment. Right here."

_Come on. Do it now. Pull._

Penny gripped the gun tighter.

"This moment where you realize you can't kill me. Just like I couldn't kill you."

Penny shook her head. _Keep your head clear. He'll say many things…Don't listen to a word._

His body seemed to occupy every inch of space, his breath swallowed her air.

"We can't kill what we've created…" he trailed off, in a low, sinister whisper.

Penny felt tears smarting in her eyes.

"Shut up. Stop talking."

"God doesn't kill his children. You know why? He's curious. You and I…we're curious."

_You created me. I created you._

"Shut up. Shut up. I don't want to hear it. You and your stories and your bullshit and –" She choked on a sob. " _I_ can kill you. _I_ can."

The gun shook and rattled and her finger touched the trigger, but it was stuck, paralyzed.

She tried to move it. She pushed it until she felt her bone breaking, but the trigger seemed to slip away.

Jack laughed.

"Guess you don't want to get rid of me, after all."

Penny snarled. She was finally catching up to it. The terror.

She raised her hand and hit him in the head with the barrel of the gun.

He blinked and for a fraction of a moment, pure surprise illuminated his face. He leaned against the wall, his knees buckling.

She didn't wait for more. She pushed past him and ran.

Raucous laughter erupted behind her. A laugh so powerful, so joyful, so deadly.

"Oh, doll, you don't know how I've missed you!"


	13. Chapter 13

She would have dropped the gun behind her blindly, but it carried the imprint of his face, and like a sacred, feared object, she held it up in front of her as she dashed through dirty alleys and fog-seeped streets. Somewhere behind her, she heard sirens and the _swoosh!_ of helicopter paddles. Oddly, it seemed like they were all chasing _her_.

She had torn her dress at the knees and she was half-running, half-limping with the long hem trailing behind her.

She found the limousine. The driver was missing.

The smell of blood was so powerful, she could taste it, tangy and sweet.

Devlin Davenport was lying in the back seat unconscious, a pool of blood between his legs, his shirt sprayed with red.

Penny was afraid to touch him, afraid to get any closer. But he needed immediate medical assistance. And she had to get out of there.

With trembling hands, she got behind the steering wheel. The key was still in ignition, dangling sinisterly, as if it had just been handled.

The limousine had a phone, but when she picked it up, the line was dead. The closest hospital was not close enough, but there was no other option. She put the gun in the seat next to her and turned the key.

The engine purred softly and the car started smoothly. She felt a slight jolt when the wheels rolled against two speed bumps. The moment before she hit the ground, panic spiked in her gut. She stepped on the gas, barrelling through the nearest intersection without looking left or right. She earned loud horns and angry calls from the other drivers who narrowly avoided her.

The police hadn't tracked them down yet, but she was afraid that if she stopped, Devlin would die.

Speeding along through the relatively empty streets, she almost felt free. She had never driven such a big car before and never quite so fast. Street lights became one long spiralling white line. Like the pulse of a beating heart. The city seemed to disappear behind her. All that existed was that far off horizon, that invisible finish line.

She was doing fine, for someone who had a dying man in the backseat. And if she held out a while longer, she was going to make it. She was going to save Devlin, she was going to save herself.

A yellow school bus ran straight into her. The limousine skidded and crashed into a lamppost.

She hit her head hard. The airbags pushed her back in her seat. Her forehead was bleeding.

Her vision was blurred, but she could see men in clown masks jumping out of the bus. Their number seemed infinite, their hands and feet multiplying grotesquely. A spider with a thousand legs.

She grappled for the gun and aimed it at those sinister faces, shooting at random, as if she were playing a video game.

Only one bullet, only one possible casualty.

She heard a groan. A thud. That meant she had hit her target. Or missed. She wasn't sure. Their number only seemed to increase. And yet, if she looked hard, they were only a handful. How did they manage that trick?

They burst open the back doors and dragged out Devlin's body into the street. An ugly black trail of blood was left in his wake. They carried him by his feet all the way back to the school bus.

"S-Stop!" she yelled hoarsely, but one of them had thrown a rock at her window, and she had to duck as the rain of glass fell on her back.

Her body was splayed over the two seats, her chest heaving with the effort to breathe. Blood fell down her face into her eyes. She couldn't even bring herself to wipe it away.

But then she didn't have to.

Someone was wiping it for her.

She froze.

His tongue was warm and rough, like sand and sun, scorching her eyes. He moved delicately, lapping at her eyelids like a kitten, moving up to her eyebrows, tracing her split forehead.

She smelled his breath, rotten and sweet, on her face.

She realized she was crying.

But he swallowed the tears too, greedily.

She heard him lick his lips, savoring the taste.

When he was done and she could open her eyes once more, he was standing on top of her with a perfectly undisturbed look on his face, his red mouth wet with her blood. It was a vicious, yet strangely innocuous sight. As if he were merely an animal, too hungry to know better.

He was holding a long shard of glass from the window between his fingers and he was eyeing the tear at her knees. He placed the tip between her shins.

In one zig-zag cut, he ripped the fabric in half.

Penny's breath hitched in her throat. Her thighs were exposed, the stockings glimmering with beads of sweat. She saw him put the shard of glass in his mouth as one of his hands traveled down between her legs.

 _No_ , she screamed internally.

She clenched her thighs, trapping his hand in their solid warmth, and pushed herself up. She punched him in the jaw. He bit her shoulder. She scratched at his neck, he sank his nails in her scalp. She yelled, he moaned. She lodged her hands on his chest, trying to push him away, but his free hand caught the back of her neck, and suddenly he was pulling her towards him and she was pulling him towards her and their faces were inches apart.

His red mouth over hers, he pushed the glass between her lips.

Penny tasted the cold shard, cutting through her tongue. She clenched her teeth on it. Her gums screamed. The other end of the glass was smeared with blood and paint.

Jack smirked. Her muscles unclenched and released his hand and he removed the gun from underneath her thighs.

"Too bad you couldn't do it. Too bad I was right," he said, rubbing the cold barrel on the soft flesh inside her thighs. "Now, we'll have to play Gods and children."

Penny didn't spit out the glass. She held it there, between her teeth.

"The Makers and the Made."

He rubbed harder until the stockings tore at the seams.

"And their games, you know, their games always leave a _biiig_ mess behind," he drawled, nodding his head towards the bus, grinning.

Their eyes seemed to hold up an invisible battle line. Neither would look away. Neither would betray their position.

Sirens and _swoosh!_

He was gone, but their eyes were still linked, still held together by the same sway.

* * *

There was no way out. She was already outside.

She dashed past empty drugstores and 24/7 minimarkets with bleak neon signs slapped on the front, figures sleeping huddled next to air vents, stoned teenagers sitting on stair flights in front of block houses, watching their own spit dry on the concrete and stray cats licking their tails on garbage cans.

she realized, by the looks of it all, that she was in the urban passage under Jerold Bridge. Which meant she was close to her old childhood home. She had not gone to this part of town since well…the death of her parents.

Funny how she had ended up here.

There was a place, right under the bridge, a place where she and other kids used to throw rocks in the river.

They would roll down in the dirt, their sneakers just edging on the slippery banks.

The place stirred strange memories, a stormy ocean in her head, punctured by the night's upheavals.

Her childhood was watching from the other end of the bridge, waiting for her to come inside.

A bitter taste, like strong medicine, slipped down her throat. She recognized something, something bad about the place.

It was the last bridge before the docks and the Atlantic hit you straight in the face. Her father had been proud to take her and her mother on long walks across its length and show them the tallest buildings in Gotham in the far distance, the infinite sea, low and humming, right behind them. Up on Jerold Bridge, you could ignore the sprawling dirt underneath, the washed up neighborhoods. You could say this _was_ still technically Uptown Gotham. The last vestige of it. The last stop before Midtown.

And God forbid you ever found yourself _Downtown_. A foreign notion to her father. Respectable middle-class people didn't go there. He would have been absolutely appalled, had he known she used to live in Bloomherst.

No, her dad had been proud of Jerold Bridge. He had loved this town, he had loved his place in it.

But had it been real love? One day, he decided to move. One day, he decided to leave Gotham. Just like that. _That_ was fickle love. Her mother had not batted an eyelid. She had taken her out of school. She remembered saying goodbye to her classmates. She remembered packing stuffed toys. They were supposed to see the bridge one last time before they went. But they never went.

After that, she had only gone back to the bridge once, to throw her mother's jewelry case in the water. She was nine, verging on ten. She was no longer a "cute kid". She was no longer anyone's kid. She hated her mother's jewelry. She had wanted to drown that last piece beauty, the last piece left of her.

Penny shivered. Hateful thoughts sprung into her head, thoughts that didn't seem her own, thoughts that had been dormant for years: cold satisfaction as her parents got inside the car without her, frustration at not seeing their faces in the last moment before the impact, relief when the jewels floated lifelessly with the fishes.

She collapsed on the dirty rocks under the bridge.

* * *

"I hope you don't intend to swim."

The voice was like static, slurred and gruff.

Penny was so startled, she almost _did_ fall into the water.

A thick black glove shot out and grabbed her arm, holding her back.

"Let me go –"

Her words were swallowed by the night breeze.

She looked into a pair of strange bright eyes standing out in an ebony mask. The pointy years, like an after-thought, a bad joke. The open mouth, steam rolling out like clouds. Chest rising and falling underneath a tight armor of rubber, leather and steel.

So, the Batman was human, after all.

"You scared me."

"Not my intention."

"What _is_ your intention?"

"To help you."

 _He's an odd sort of fella. Too much of a martyr_ , Jack had said.

And here he was, up close, for the first time in her life. He looked ridiculous, standing there under Jerold Bridge, telling her he was going to help her. She choked on a small burst of laughter.

"Anything amusing?"

"I've had a long night."

The smile, sad and wilting, lingered on her lips.

" It wasn't a very amusing night," she added as an after-thought.

Her shoulders trembled in the cool breeze.

He stepped in front of her and she noticed his dark cape, billowing behind him, mingling with the night shadows.

 _I'm saying…well, you'd have to be a little crazy to go out in a cape_ , Jack had sniggered.

He unclasped it with a soft clang and suddenly, he was draping the heavy cloak over her shoulders.

"How did you find me?"

He tipped her chin up.

"Are you hurt?"

Her forehead was caked in blood. But her eyes were licked clean.

"I hit him over the head with the gun. I drove off. He followed me. He...he took the gun back," she spoke, her tongue heavy in her mouth.

"What else did he do?"

She threw him a hard look. "He took Davenport."

"Where?"

"I don't know. He took off in a yellow school bus with his henchmen. I didn't catch the plate number."

"Nevermind. He won't be able to hide for long," the Bat replied in a gruff voice.

Penny blinked. "Why are you here, then, instead of looking for him?"

"Because he is after you, and you need to get to safety first."

"Let's not fool ourselves. Safety at this point is a ridiculous concern..." she trailed off.

A moment later, realization dawned upon her.

"But you don't want to keep me safe. You only came after me because you thought he would be here too. Didn't you?"

A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, confirming her suspicions.

"I want you to be safe, Penny. Out of harm's way," he replied with a hint of gentleness in his voice.

She didn't question how he knew her name. Instead:

"A bit late for that. The last time I warned everyone, I was in a hospital bed and no one heard me. Now, everyone hears me, but they won't do anything."

"You don't know what _I_ 'll do."

 _Big appetite for violence_ , Jack had said.

"I'll catch him. He's already shown his cards. He's not invincible."

"No, neither am I," she said looking up at him. "And I'll be caught in the crossfire. Won't I?"

His hands were on her shoulders, steadying her, keeping her away from the panic resurfacing in her gut.

"Listen to me, Penny. You're in shock right now. You were brave. Very brave. And I want to protect you. But you have to help me. I don't want to wait until he reappears. But you have to be on my side. Do you understand?"

Penny licked her lips.

"Crossfire, then," she muttered.

* * *

The car was like a tank, impregnable and stifling, every inch of it watching you, seizing upon you like an intruder. Every movement was caught and registered. The seat shifted when she leaned back or forward, as if it knew the shape and mold of her body. A ready-made cage. The technology was unfamiliar, but she felt she had seen it before. The screens all showed sights of different boroughs in Gotham. Although, not quite. They were all showing streets with yellow school buses.

"Are we going to the police?"

"I'm taking you home."

His profile was stern, his grip on the wheel tight. A half-man, he was. Someone whose identity came apart without the bat.

"Home?"

"Wayne Towers."

"What happens after you take me home?"

"You go to bed and try to get some rest. Tomorrow will be hard," he muttered tonelessly.

"But you'll pull through. You won't give him the satisfaction," he added, in what she sensed was a more sympathetic tone.

Reality slowly started seeping back into her brain, like a newsfeed signal coming to life.

"What happened to Gotham National Bank?"

"The building was damaged by a smoke grenade. Five burglars. They all shot each other. One of them is missing. I think you know who that is. He took the money."

"He has more men. I saw them."

"I gathered."

"But all of them were wearing masks. Not make up," she said more to herself.

"Yes. You'll have to tell me, eventually, why that matters. You'll have to tell me everything you know about him," he warned her, keeping his eyes on the road.

One of the screens flashed red. He tapped his fingers on some buttons and the image became clearer. A school bus had been abandoned sideways in the middle of the road in Midtown Reatton.

Penny looked out the window but she could see nothing, not even street lights. Her eyes were watering. She wiped the mascara away, her fingertips smeared black.

"I'm not brave."

The Bat remained stoically silent.

"Earlier you said I was brave. I wasn't. I could have killed him. I hesitated when all of this could have been over."

" _Not_ killing him was braver."

"Then I should've been a coward. I should've proven him wrong. I didn't."

"Proven him wrong?"

_This moment where you realize you can't kill me. Just like I couldn't kill you._

In the pit of her stomach, she realized she wanted nothing better than to go back in that elevator and unspool him, take him apart, wring his neck, stab him with his own knife – just never let his paint touch her. Never let that fatality happen.

_Too late._

The serene look on his face as he licked the blood on her eyes.

_Now, we'll have to play Gods and children._

Penny clenched her fists. "You're right. He's not invincible. I know how I can help you."

For the first time, he turned his profile towards her.

"I want to make a statement to the authorities and the press. Tonight. Right now," she spoke in a rapid succession.

"It can wait until tomorrow."

Her whole body was vibrating with a new kind of energy.

"No, it can't. He wants to play games? I'll give him games."

He looked at her then, and for a split second, she saw doubt in those sharp eyes. And something worse.

He was wary of her.

But he nodded his head anyway.

* * *

James Gordon wiped the sweat from his eyebrows with an old handkerchief. He watched the young woman through the glass parting, watched her speak calmly, hands barely shaking on the desk. She had emerged from the bathroom with a clean face. She had a blanket thrown over her shoulders, but she stood stark and wild among the officers. She would brush at her eyes impatiently or even slap her palm on the table when she wanted to get her point across, but there was control in every movement.

She was growing a hard edge, a hard surface that would be difficult to remove.

When she resurfaced into his office, he handed her a warm cup of coffee and put a hand on her back.

"So, it has begun."

Penny nodded her head.

"You're not alone, you know. We're all here to help."

"The Batman wants _me_ to help _him_."

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow. "He's got some…unorthodox ideas."

"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?" she asked, looking up.

Gordon shrugged, a half-smile on his face. "Nothing is quite right in this town, kiddo. I've given up on black and white a long time ago."

"What about you? What would you have me do?"

"I'd have you go into the witness protection program, like we talked. I'd have you out of Gotham before morning. But you're not going to follow what I say."

"No," she replied sadly.

"Well, then. You're doing the right thing."

* * *

 _A CLOWN IN DISGUISE. JACK HAS RETURNED! BUT PENELOPE LISS ISN'T FRIGHTENED_ , ran the morning news titles.

_THE GALA THAT WENT WRONG. PENELOPE LISS DIVULGES HOW SHE CONFRONTED THE CLOWN MURDERER AND WON._

_"HE CAME BACK TO FINISH WHAT HE STARTED. BUT HE COULDN'T DO IT." PENELOPE LISS TOLD OUR SOURCES.  
_

_PENELOPE LISS CALLS HER OLD NEMESIS A "SAD CLOWN"._

_"I REALIZED HE WAS MORE SCARED OF ME, THAN I WAS OF HIM," SHE CONFESSED TO OUR REPORTERS._

_THE BLOOMHERST KILLER REEMERGES. DUBBED A "BAD JOKE" BY PENELOPE LISS._

_ELEVATOR KILLER IS A COWARD, SAYS EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT PENELOPE LISS._

" _HE COULDN'T EVEN KILL ME WHEN HE HAD THE CHANCE," SHE REVEALED TO OUR SOURCES._

_PENELOPE LISS STATED THAT THE MAN KNOWN AS JACK IS A VICTIM OF ABUSE, MADNESS AND IMPOTENCE._

The last article quoted her in detail: "It's a classic case of impotence. He's ill, but it's not his fault. He feels powerless. And he's, unfortunately, obsessed with me. He has never touched a woman before. He wants me. It's why he shot Devlin. He was obviously jealous. But he knows he can't have me. To be honest, I pity him."

Their confrontation was described as a battle of wits, which Penelope had won. "He pointed the gun at me, but it was as if he was paralyzed. I told him, if he didn't shoot me now, he wouldn't get another chance. I think that did it. It was too much for him. He ran off in a school bus with his followers. Why a school bus? Probably symbolic of his inability to cope with adulthood."

Another article expanded on his make up. Penelope Liss was quoted again. "Of course he's in disguise. Would you want to show your face with those scars? He's ashamed and scared. He hates himself. He uses a clown mask, because deep down he's still a sad little boy. You know, the class clown? The one who tries so hard to get your attention by doing all kinds of stupid things? That's him. A little joker."

Most of the newspapers showed the same dazzling photo, the one Penny had selected. It was her at the entrance to the stadium, wearing her gorgeous red dress, the one Mrs. Levenstein had said looked like "a million bucks", smiling demurely at the cameras, one hand in her hair. Under the photo: "I don't hate him. I just feel sorry for him."

There was also a photo of the Bat Mobile, driving through the city. Attached to the photo was the text:

_Penelope Liss told our sources that the Batman came to her rescue after her collision with Jack. He provided moral and emotional support, as well as persuaded Ms. Liss to speak the TRUTH about the Elevator Killer. The Batman is determined to restore the money stolen from Gotham National Bank and has promised Ms. Liss to bring the "Clown" to justice._

Middle-aged parents reading the newspapers that morning thought the story was pure sensationalism. They furrowed their brows and made snide, critical comments, but inside, they were dying to know more. They were eating it up, reading Penelope's accounts feverishly, watching the news on TV for a glimpse of her. This woman who had faced a serial killer, who had survived a _second_ time and was now _toying_ with him.

Fathers fantasized about her, housewives fantasized about being her.

And the kids? They reenacted the scene with their friends at the bus stop. They played the game at school, in the hallways during recess: one of them was the Clown, one of the girls was Penny and another boy claimed to be the Dark Knight. They had to fight to get the part, because everyone wanted to be the villain, the girl and the hero.

Teenage girls dreamt about what it would be like to be wanted by a murderer. Teenage boys secretly wanted to know what it was like, to be on top of her.

Across town, Harvey Dent was also reading the news. And he was not pleased. Gotham National Bank was _his_ priority and catching the "Clown" would be _his_ accomplishment. He didn't want the Batman involved. Not officially. Not publicly. Not where everyone could see. He did not understand why his ex-campaign manager was doing this. Because her name was right up there with the Bat's. In fact, it was _everywhere_ that morning. She had orchestrated a media avalanche.

* * *

Oh, she was good. She was very good. She was a surgeon. She cut with precision, no wavering, no distractions. She hit the right nerve, pierced it and expunged it. His scars ached and waited for her mutilation.

No one could see through that demure smile, except him. The cameras flashed and she posed modestly, but that perverse arch in her eyebrow, the aggressive glow under her eyelashes, they betrayed her.

She hadn't disappointed him. She was playing Gods and children.

_"See how I took your precious mask away? See how easy it was?! It's mine now! It was never yours to begin with! You wore it out of fear. I'm wearing it because I can!"_

Words that never failed to inspire him. The elevator was a sacred space to which he returned constantly, a temple of recollection from which he derived strength. She was profaning it, besmirching it on purpose.

And she might try to make Gotham privy to their dance of terror and ecstasy, but only she and he knew to read between the lines.

"He's ill _he's whole_ but it's not his fault _and it's all because of him_. He feels powerless _powerful_. And he's, unfortunately, obsessed with me, _as I am with him_. He has never touched a woman before, _but he has touched me_. He wants me _and I want him_. It's why he shot Devlin. _It's why I made him shoot Devin_. He was obviously jealous _and I was obviously pleased._ But he knows he can't have me. _He knows I am his_. To be honest, I pity him, _but he doesn't pity me_."

Yes, they could all read about the smart executive assistant who had foiled the out-of-luck criminal, but she and he would always have a language of their own.

As for the Bat, well, it was awfully mean of Moneypenny to use him like that. When she knew he was such a big fan.

But after all, he was just getting started.

If she wanted him to be angry, he would be angry.

He threw the dart against the wall. It landed on the very words he hated most.

_"You know, the class clown? The one who tries so hard to get your attention by doing all kinds of stupid things? That's him. A little joker."_

He shredded the pieces, one by one.

_That's him. A little joker._

_him. A little joker._

_A little joker._

_Little joker._

_ittle joker._

_ttle joker._

_tle joker._

_le joker._

_e joker._

_**joker.** _

* * *

Penny put the shard of glass between her teeth. She bit down. And smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the kudos and comments! All locations in Gotham are taken from movie/comicbook canon.


	14. Chapter 14

Lucius Fox stared at the ear muffs with some hesitation before putting them on. He slipped inside the firing room with meek steps, very much unlike himself. But these places never inspired anything but disgust. He flinched at the sounds he couldn't hear. He hated violence, as a rule. Even feigned one.

His executive assistant, however, was another story. Penny was now on her third silhouette. The previous two were covered in bullet holes. She aimed around the heart and above the eyes.

Lucius watched the way her elbow seemed to dive in and out of her arm as she pressed down on the trigger. Her body tensed, and  _remained_  tense even after the shot. Almost as if the real bullet was still between her fingers. Something about her was changed, although he couldn't exactly say what. It was easy to notice change in someone like Penelope, but it was harder to pinpoint it, describe it, quantify it.

He was so lost in his own ruminations that he didn't even notice when she turned her head over her shoulder and looked straight at him.

She put down her firearm and lowered her ear muffs.

"Sir. I wasn't expecting you down here."

Truthfully, she didn't look surprised, which suggested she had more or less suspected the visit. But she looked bashful and somewhat embarrassed.

 _Good_ , he thought, since he was here to scold her.

"Are you letting off some well-deserved steam?" he asked amiably, the way you'd begin a conversation with a difficult client.

"Practicing, more like it."

"Ah. Practice implies preparation for a confrontation. I  _do_  hope you're not considering that an option."

Penny rubbed at her forehead to wipe away the sweat. "Practice only implies practice. That is all."

Lucius pushed a button on a panel behind him and the lights went out, one by one. Soon, it was pitch black inside the room.

"Sir?  _Lucius_?"

Her voice had gone from level-headed-executive-assistant to young-girl-in-an-elevator. He knew what he was doing. He knew it was wrong. The dark was corrupted for her in ways he did not fathom. Giving her a blackout was not conducive to any kind of recovery. But right now, he needed her to forget about recovery. He needed Penny to listen and do as told.

He opened his briefcase and took out the infrared goggles. He could barely make out her moving body in the dark, but he nudged the pair against her arm and she grabbed them shakily.

Tiny red dots appeared everywhere on the silhouettes.

"Pick up your weapon and shoot. I believe that's better practice for when you find yourself in Gotham's less circulated neighborhoods."

Penny's breath came out chopped and dizzy, like waves in a storm.

"Now, now. You must learn to shoot in the dark."

"Is this your brand of punishment?" she spoke in an eerily calm voice.

"I am only testing my assistant."

"Poor choice of test, I might add."

"No one who is tested is going to  _like_  the test. After all, what's the point if they do?"

" _Why_  is this necessary? Beyond the fact that I fell for the same distraction everyone else did, I did nothing wrong. I got into the car with Devlin because I thought it was safe.  _You_  would have done the same thing. What happened afterwards was out of my control. No one knew  _he_  was –"

"That's not what this is about and you know it. This is about your unsavory affair with the press."

Penny arranged the straps on her goggles. The world looked red.

"You forget I am your  _employee_ , not your child."

"And as my employee, you are endangering my investments by endangering yourself."

Penny turned her body towards him and the sudden cold current cut through him like a knife.

"I am  _saving_  your investments by promoting myself," she spat, her voice quivering with anger and resentment, although she was not sure it was directed at Lucius. She was not sure it was directed at  _anyone_ , but it felt good to let it ripple to the surface. "Showing anything else to the public would have weakened my position at Wayne Enterprises. I had to choose between embarrassment and advancement. I think I made the right choice for you and everyone else."

The elder man sighed.

"You thought of no one. Much less yourself. You acted recklessly."

"That's  _one_  way of looking at it."

"It's the  _only_  way," Lucius retorted. "I don't know if you're aware that you have an ego, Miss Liss. But it's quite big. And it's going to get you in trouble."

Penny breathed hard through her nostrils, enjoying the way the anger coursed through her. She'd have to get used to well-meaning people, people who cared about her, telling her what was wrong or right. She'd also have to get used to ignoring them.

"Sensationalism will always be better than a gun," she replied at length.

"Then why are you at the shooting range?"

Penny was tempted to retort that she was only a couple of floors below the Penthouse. Still at Wayne Towers, still trapped, still protected.

She was quiet for a moment or two, recalibrating her forces, it seemed. Then, he heard movement in the dark. She had cocked her gun. He had no idea when she had picked it up to begin with.

She aimed it at the red dots on the wall, few and far between as they were. She began shooting blindly.

Once, twice, thrice…Seven times.

Every time, she shot at the wall, she bellowed in her head,  _I won, I won, I won, I won, I won, I won, I won…_

But something in the ensuing silence felt wrong. She had won, but just one battle.

A war was coming. And victory was still a far way off.

* * *

His name was Anton, and he had a wonderful plan for the 30-somethings gathered in his basement, half of which were unemployed and down in the dumps. The men's faces were worn out with cynicism, but Anton's enthusiasm was, if not contagious, at least hard to remain completely indifferent to.

"Do you see this woman, gentlemen? Do you know her?"

He went round with his laptop and showed them the front-page of  _Gotham Post_.

They nodded their heads tiredly.

"Of course you do. It's hard not to, these days. It's a pity she's only become a thrilling story and nothing else. I mean, naturally, people admire her courage, but they shy away from any determinate action, don't they?"

His salt-of-the-earth demeanor clashed strongly with the delicate way he enunciated his words. He unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. The radiator was groaning in the corner.

"It's enough that the Batman was there to help her, isn't it? The poor woman almost died,  _twice_ , but lucky for her, the Batman arrived in the nick of time. Or did he? Well, no, actually he appeared after she'd already faced off with a psychotic criminal. So, what exactly did the Batman  _do_?"

He went up to one of the men who was scratching his chin in thought and, shoving the laptop in his face, made him read the underlined quotes.

"He provided moral and emotional support, as well as persuaded Ms. Liss to speak –"

"That's enough, my friend. Thank you. 'Moral and emotional support'. That's what the Batman was good for. Now I ask you, gentlemen, isn't that something any one of us can provide?" He didn't wait for them to answer. "Then why is  _this_  man the Batman?"

The men looked at each other, not knowing what to say, except to hum and raise their eyebrows in annoyance. With Anton or the Batman, or both.

"He let Devlin Davenport escape through his fingers – the man has not been seen or heard from in two weeks – and the Clown Joker, or whatever he is called? He's still roaming the streets, somewhere out there, making a sham of our police force. Do I even  _need_  to discuss the Gotham National Bank? Either the Batman is too busy to do something, or he finds himself overwhelmed."

The legs of one of the chairs scraped the floor as one man got up to pour himself some coffee.

"A lot of people will always think he's not doing that well," he said, putting his hands around the warm cup.

Anton smiled, tapping the man on the shoulder. The brown liquid tilted precariously inside the cup.

"My friend, I'm not in any way criticizing the Bat. I'm only painting a rather grim, but very real picture."

"Not criticizing?" another man chimed in, leaning back in his chair. "Well, you sound displeased."

"I do! But not with the Batman. I'm displeased with you! Yes,  _all_  of you, and that includes myself and the rest of Gotham too. Whoever came up with this crazy idea that  _one_  man in a cape could save us all while we stand back and watch?  _Of course_  one man, no matter how capable, is still just a man. He's not enough! He cannot be. I'm not blaming him. I'm trying to help him. I think we all should. The very idea of 'Batman' can't survive and was never meant to survive without us! There shouldn't be  _one_  Batman. There should be  _Batmen_! That's what he has been trying to tell us from the start!"

After such an impassioned speech, Anton needed a cup of coffee too, but his hands shook too hard to pour himself one. He wished his girlfriend could be here to do the honors, but he had come to the conclusion that this was better done between men. She wouldn't have been very happy he was still looking at Penny Liss, much less that he was using her as part of his argument.

"Bat- _men_?" another man asked doubtfully. "That's a nice thought, but a bit utopic, Anton."

"Why?" he shot back instantly. "Because we don't have the gadgets, the sophisticated machines? They seem impressive when you see them dash across your TV screen, or on the cover of some newspaper, but all that technology can't tame a whole city. If you could push a button and solve Gotham's problems,  _hell_ , we wouldn't be having this conversation. But all that fancy stuff can't find the rats hidden in the places where only men like us go. All we need are some guns, some motivation and some latex. And we'll go where he hasn't yet."

Anton wiped his chin and rubbed his hands together. He might be verging on the ridiculous, but he knew whom he was talking to. Many of these guys he had met in Anger Management. Two of them were ex-cops. Brian Douglas, for example. Had quit the force after Falcone had almost killed his sister. She was paralyzed from the neck down.

He went up to his chair and held out the coffee flask.

"I know most of you will scoff and think this is just an idiot's fantasy. I'm pretty sure the Batman was prepared for such reactions. You know why the mob in this town hasn't yet been eradicated? Because too many of you scoff."

Brian visibly flinched and squeezed his eyes shut.

Anton smiled. "What do we lack? Discipline, training, leadership? Well, that's why we're here, right? So, for once, let's take this seriously. Let's discuss the possibility of more than one vigilante. Back in the day of our forefathers, that was the law. If you  _could_ , you _did_. Let's talk like real men."

He turned to his laptop again and pointed at Penny's face. "She made a call to all of us. Are we going to be her knights, or are we going to be a bunch of sissies?"

That seemed to rattle a good portion of them. They had sat patiently and listened to his raillery and now they were getting a bit fidgety.

"That's bullshit, Anton."

" _Really_? Give me a reason, Jerry. Tell me why you want to sit this one out."

"I didn't say –"

"Better yet, tell me why the Batman is better than you, why you're just a low-life citizen and he's a hero. I'll disprove all of your points."

"I don't need to be a hero."

"Sure you don't, but you  _do_  need to eat and sleep in this goddamn town without fearing that some fat cat is going to take your kids' organs and sell them on the black market. You  _do_  need to live in this dump without shitting your pants every time that Clown psycho kills someone else."

The man called Jerry got up precipitately and had to be restrained by two other men.

"But it's not a dump, is it?" Anon asked, completely disaffected. "It's  _our_  town."

"You want to go up against murderers and Mafioso?" Jerry yelled. "Be my guest!"

"A twenty-something  _woman_  did it," Anton retorted, his eyes gleaming. "She took him on by herself.  _And you can't do it_?"

More men got up to shout and argue, either in Anton's favor, or in Jerry's. But either way, this was good, he thought. This was getting somewhere.

Towards the end of the meeting, Anton had come up with two tentative names. "Batmen" and "Penny's Knights".

* * *

The point was to remove all the pieces and reach the Queen. The Bat was the Knight, Harvey was the Bishop, and James Gordon was the Rook. He wasn't the King. No, that was a rather useless position. He was only a pawn, and a pawn could move seamlessly through the debris and elegance of a chequered world. A pawn could topple her power and uncrown her.

His first move was simple and rather comical. Well, that was expected of him nowadays, wasn't it?

He offered Devlin Davenport his testicles back in return for his bank account.

After he had shot him in the groin, little could be salvaged of his manhood, but he had made sure the testicles were surgically removed and preserved in a jar above Devlin's make-shift bed.

Some of his men thought Devlin wouldn't survive the bus ride. But rich bastards die slowly. Their grip on life is exemplary, if a little pathetic. And what would a bunch of Arkham convicts know about that? Well, one of them used to be a medical practitioner. That came in handy when Devlin's minuscule balls were snipped off.

When Davenport came to from his fever and was made aware of his…omission, he bawled like a baby. Sobbed until his eyes were rimmed red with snot and tears.

"Now, now, Devvie. You need to have more faith. Science is the miracle of the modern world. The things we can achieve now in plastic surgery…it really warms the cockles of my heart. You'll soon be reunited with your tiny friends once more. In fact, I'm willing to trade them, if you just take this pen between your fingers and stop shaking, will ya? No need to piss your pants...oh wait, you  _can't!_ Ha! So, take the pen and write what I tell you. If not…I'm sure a lot of strays would love to try some "oeufs de Davenport". That's eggs in French. So whaddaya say? Do it for Devvie Jr.?" he teased, shaking the jar before his eyes.

The trick was to move the money from one of Davenport's off-shore accounts into other…off-shore accounts. Spread it so thin until no one would bother to figure out how Devlin had squandered his money right before his death. Half the money was placed in a traceless account in Zurich, which fed two anonymous investments in Belarus and Poland.

The other half, which amounted to the felicitous sum of 1.5 million dollars, he offered as a small meal to the Chinese Crime Triad in Gotham, led by one sick motherfucker called Lau. He  _happened_  to be the CEO of Lau Security Investment Holdings which was hoping to strike a joint business venture with Wayne Enterprises. What a nice  _fit_.

You had to pick your crime lords by race. Lau couldn't be touched by Gotham City law. International status will get you many things.

His meeting with Lau was nothing short of poetry. Well, if being kicked in the stomach and having two teeth knocked out of your mouth can be considered poetic.

But Jack rolled with the punches. He laughed when the two Asian thugs pinned him to the wall.

He had just called Lau a "sissy-pants" for not taking monopoly over crime in Gotham.

"I mean," he wheezed, trying to catch his breath, "you gonna let Sal  _Moron_  rule over the ignoble masses? That Italian meatball? No Siiiiir, I'd brush him off like a fly."

Lau was humming something softly under his breath, holding the tips of a page between his fingers, grudgingly. He was perusing the transfer file with feigned boredom. The money was all there, as the  _Joker_  had promised. And he couldn't scoff at the offer.

"Sal Maroni is said to be more dangerous than his predecessor," Lau commented calmly.

Jack nodded vigorously, his face still plastered to the grimy wall. "And what am I tellin' ya? Idiots  _are_  more dangerous. They're unpredictable, like kids in the park. Running around, throwing sand in your face. Bunch of little shits with toy tractors. You know, those big red things? That's how they carry the sand...to throw in your face! But you know how you get them? You know how you get Maroni? Let me tell you. I got the recipe."

"Why should I listen to a low-life criminal who's been called an impotent coward by a woman?" Lau teased almost amiably. "You must realize you've made a reputation in the papers. A pitiable one. And yet you insult your superiors."

Jack closed his mouth and nuzzled his nose against the wall, breathing in the filth. He counted back from one hundred. Better not flinch, better not grit his teeth. Minutes passed in tense silence. Lau raised an eyebrow impatiently. He tapped his fingers against the table.

" _Well_?"

Jack sighed, lifting his shoulders in helplessness. "Can't breathe, chief. Can't talk."

Lau rolled his eyes.

"Put him back in the chair," he ordered swiftly.

Jack was planted down on the wooden stool with a bit too much force and his spine cracked audibly.

"Well?" Lau asked again, lips pursing.

Jack licked his lips, feeling the dirt in the dry cracks. The tip of his tongue reached into the inside of his jaw.

"The papers are right. I'm a bad joke," he muttered, extracting the metal pins from his mouth.

The first bodyguard wasn't fast enough. The second one lunged at him too quickly. He had jabbed one pin in the first guy's throat, zig-zagging it across his jugular. He ducked when the second guy came at him and, picking up the stool, hit him over the back with it, momentarily making him stumble. He broke one of the legs and thrust it into his thigh without a pause. It happened so fast, that Lau forgot to shout.

The second thug was howling in pain. Jack bent down and pierced his lips together with the pin, sealing his mouth and muffling his screams.

"The Gambol," Jack explained, a little bit out of breath, hitting the howling man with his foot. "Head of the black mob. You take him out first."

"Aaaand then the Chechen," he continued, pointing at the dark pool of blood that was now forming around the first thug. "That one you want fully dead."

Lau's hands were shaking as he held onto the table. Beads of sweat fell down his forehead on the open file before him.

" _That's_  how you take out Sal Maroni and crown yourself king. That's the recipe," Jack finished with a bow.

Lau gripped his tie, trying to loosen it, without success.

"You know I can have you killed right now. With the simple push of a button. My men are waiting outside."

"Yeah…they probably think that's  _me_  screaming," Jack laughed, kicking the second thug's foot with glee.

"I can make you suffer much worse than what you did to these men," Lau said, voice strangled with fury and contempt.

"Oh, come on. This was just a demonstration. A bit of advertising. If anyone can rid you of the Gambol and the Chechen, it's me."

Lau reined in his faltering composure. He ran a stiff hand through his hair, although his forehead was still bathed in sweat.

The Joker's eyes were black as night.

"Kill me now and you get 1.5 million dollars. That money's yours no matter what you do. Kill me later and you get Gotham. That includes Davenport and a whooole bunch of other honey pots. Picture the Italian mob, the black mob and the Chechen mob…all shitting their pants when you enter a room. That's because I'll be right behind you."

Lau had seen Clowns before, but perhaps none like this one. His face may have been smeared with the colors of the rainbow but there was nothing funny about him. The papers had missed a couple of things.

Jack picked up the bloody teeth the thugs had taken out earlier.

"Ha. These belong to me."

He put them in his mouth and swallowed once.

Lau shuddered, drawing back in his chair.

"You're rather insane."

" _Rather_. Now how about we get you the top seat at the table, hmmm?"

* * *

Penny stepped inside the restroom and paused when the sound of strangled sobbing reached her ears from one of the stalls lined up against the wall. She considered retreating, because she was in no mood to deal with a disgruntled employee who was probably crying because of  _her_  or Lucius, but before she could turn away, a stall door burst open. She recognized the mascara-smeared face. It was Becky, the assistant she had snapped at during the Gala preparations. She still remembered the girl's terrified countenance.

"Oh! Oh, Ms. Liss, I – I'm so sorry, I was just taking a break," she stammered, wiping the tears away.

Penny closed the restroom door and walked towards her briskly. She took the girl by the hands and led her to one of the sinks.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

Perhaps it was the festering guilt that made her reach out. She had wrongly accused the poor girl of playing with her mind. She still remembered how she had pushed her up against the wall.

Penny gritted her teeth at the sight of her run-down makeup. Perhaps she also wanted to remove this unpleasant reminder.

Becky hiccupped as one fresh tear slipped from her eyelashes.

"Shh now. Whatever is wrong can be fixed," Penny soothed. "Let me fix it."

Becky held in a sob, but didn't dare speak further, because her boss was invading her personal space and the last time that had happened, well...she had almost attacked her. She stood still as Penny removed a cotton pad from her purse, dabbed it in water and started wiping her face.

The movements were precise but gentle. Penny held her by the chin and instructed her to close her eyes. Becky was tense at first, but couldn't remain so for long because the sensation was so  _nice_. She sighed as the cool fabric caressed her skin, leaving behind a pleasant tingling sensation. It was like her troubles were being erased. When the cotton pad reached her lips, Becky blinked her eyes open.

Penny was staring straight into her soul. Or so it seemed.

"What's the matter? Tell me."

Becky glanced sideways. "I'm – not doing very well here. At my job."

Penny sighed.

"It's been a rough time for everyone. You shouldn't blame yourself.  _No one_  can do their job very well right now. And the Gala…the Gala was compromised only by external circumstances. Otherwise, it was a relatively smooth run, particularly for its size and scope. We could have done better, but…we were ambushed. There was little you or I could do."

Becky nodded her head hesitantly.

"What are you doing here so late, anyway?" Penny asked, still holding her chin.

"I – I wanted to catch up on all the extra work. And I don't really feel like going home, Ms. Liss. The city's not a very safe place right now."

Penny chuckled. She had once been this girl, too afraid to leave the firm during Crane's reign of terror, years ago.

"Stay, then. But no more tears. I won't always be here to wipe them."

Becky cracked a polite grin, but it wasn't very convincing. She tried to extricate herself out of her boss' grip, but Penny smiled and said,

"Of course, there were  _internal_  circumstances too. It was hard to discern during the general chaos, but you must have noticed them too, Becky. The people who should  _not_  have been there. The people who were  _not_  part of the general chaos. The traitors."

Penny's hand moved from the girl's chin to her mouth. Her thumb hovered over her swollen lips. And then, it wiped them clean, making Becky shiver uncontrollably.

"I know you will keep your eyes open for them. You're a smart girl. Remember. Stick with the winning side."

The girl's eyes widened as the thumb traced her bottom lip, trailed down her chin and rested on her throat, right above her erratic pulse. She felt a fluttery sensation in her stomach, fear and…

Penny's smile was innocuous. In fact, she was just being polite. That's what it was. The thumb was gone before she could blink. Her boss was clasping the lock on her purse, strapping it over her shoulder.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then. With a more positive outlook, I hope."

Becky watched her leave, her fingers itching to touch her swollen lips.

* * *

Thomas Schiff liked his new boss. He shared some of his ideals and dreams, things for which he had been classified a lunatic and a paranoid schizophrenic in Arkham Asylum. But the Joker just  _got_  him. He got what he was all about. He knew that his insanity was just a heightened form of lucidity. He trusted in his vision. That's why he had been assigned to talk to the girl. Of course, Boss was watching them from afar, but Thomas was in charge, and he was only too glad to prove himself every time.

She was a small, but agile thing. They had slept together only once and it had been a miserable experience for her. He had got the most out of it, because it was his creed that life should be enjoyed despite impairing circumstances. She must have not enjoyed it much because she was always thinking of her little brother. She kept bringing him up every other meeting. It was tiresome.

She had to understand, her brother was the only guarantee she wouldn't betray them. He was safe and sound and more importantly,  _untargeted_ , as long as she followed their instructions.

Thomas had tried to explain this to her multiple times. Humanity was flawed, corrupt and morally bankrupt. The only liaison left was family. The only bargaining chip stronger than money.

But Becky was a very irrational creature.  _She_  should have been committed.

Tonight was no different. She was rambling half-incoherently, and it took two harsh allusions to her sibling to stop her melodramatic speech.

Still, there was a strange aura about her tonight. And he could not pinpoint it. It stirred a terrible itch inside of him which had to be scratched before long. Of course, the job came first. Then the itch.

"Start from the beginning. And  _slowly_  this time," he emitted with a tremulous rise in his voice.  _You gotta prove yourself in front of the Boss._

"I told you…she  _knows_  something. She has to. She touched my face and my– my lips like she was trying to get it out of me...and she was gentle, but I can't explain it, it was like she was prodding  _inside_  of me. And then she had her finger over my pulse and she could tell how  _scared_  I was."

"She could tell? She could  _tell what_? Eh? Come on, what do you think she knows?!"

"...I don't know, I guess it was just a feeling, but it was  _so_  strong -!"

"That's nonsense! You call this relevant information?"

"I'm telling you she's suspicious! That counts for something!"

" _Why_? Why is she suspicious? What did you  _do_? You must've done something to set her off!" he retorted, sprays of saliva wetting her hair as he stood behind her and shook her shoulder.

"I just did what you people told me!"

"Show me, show me how she touched you. Right now."

"I – please no."

"What? What is it? Did she touch you  _elsewhere_?" he asked crudely. "She did, didn't she?"

"No!"

"She fingered your dirty little pussy, didn't she?"

Becky started sobbing again. "No! No! Stop!"

"Get up. You'll show me what she did. Show me!"

Thomas knew he was getting a bit too excited, but he hadn't felt like this in a while. He would've liked to cut the middle man and serve Penny Liss on a silver platter to his Boss, but this would do.

* * *

Jack poured copious amounts of alcohol over his wounds. He let the sting simmer. His dinner was getting cold. Chinese food, courtesy of Lau. "None of that take-out shit. The real deal," the man who had delivered it to him had guaranteed.

It was probably poisoned. Although, no, that'd make little sense. Unless he had dearly overestimated the Chinese Triad's intelligence. Should he taste it and try? Perhaps he'd make Thomas do it. He could hear the paranoid fool growing more and more insane in the other room. Poor Becky. To have to bear that limp dick's ministrations. Then again, it was an effective means of keeping her in check.

He closed his eyes and swallowed a thin strip of  _zha cai,_ enjoying the spicy, and perhaps deadly, aroma.

It might've tasted like Moneypenny.

He could see her part Becky's lips with her thumb. Before Becky could gasp, Moneypenny was already swallowing the girl's tongue, just like he had gulped down the  _zha cai_.

It was a slow dance. No resistance. One tongue caressed and guided the other into deeper pleasures. The other submitted blindly, desperately. Becky was fucking melting in her protector's arms. Moneypenny's thumb was now on Becky's throat, measuring her erratic pulse. She was backing the girl up against the sink, so she could hoist her up by her thighs. She was pushing up her skirt, tearing the slit until it revealed her dainty underwear.

And then, just like Thomas had said, Moneypenny was fingering her dirty little pussy. She was staring straight into the mirror as she fucked that little girl into oblivion.

Jack opened his eyes and realized he hadn't died of poisoning. He swallowed one more strip of  _zha cai_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter introduced some new canon characters, as you may have noticed. I'm both following and changing the Dark Knight storyline. 
> 
> Canon characters who are in the movie and appear/are mentioned in the chapter: Anton, Brian Douglas, Lau & the Chinese triad, Sal Maroni (head of Italian mob, mentioned in previous chapters), Carmine Falcone (ex-head of the mafia, mentioned in previous chapters), the Gambol (head of African-American mafia), the Chechen (head of Chechen mafia) and Thomas Schiff (former resident of Arkham Asylum). Becky belongs to me and you have already seen her in chapter twelve when Penny pinned her against the wall.
> 
> Thanks a lot for reading and your comments and kudos!


	15. Chapter 15

"Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither."

The three men around the conference table were rendered silent. These were Bruce Wayne, Lucius Fox and John Daggett. Daggett was the owner of Daggett Industries, and had bought quite a lot of Wayne Enterprises shares in order to sit at the big table today.

Penelope Liss, the only woman in the room, did not trust him. She suspected he was trying to put his foot in the door, so to speak. His real goal, she believed, was to befriend Bruce and remove Lucius from leadership.

But that didn't matter at the moment. Because neither of them had any idea what Mr. Lau was talking about.

Penny cleared her throat. "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord."

It was the first time Mr. Lau deigned to look at her. "You know your scriptures, Ms…"

"Liss," she offered shortly.

"Ms. Liss. Fan of the Old Testament, are you?"

She shrugged. "Not exactly. But Job's book is compelling."

"Compelling how?" he insisted, placing his elbows on the table.

Penny twiddled with her pen, uncertain of the answer she was supposed to give. She was not really sure _why_ she had been included in this meeting. Lucius had certainly left her in the dark. He did that more often these days, figuratively and literally.

She didn't want to throw a wrench into the negotiations by displeasing their new Chinese business partner, but she wasn't inclined to play 'twenty questions', either. All she really wanted was to get back to her work.

"A man loses everything he's ever achieved. 'Riches to rags' tales will always be powerful."

Mr. Lau chuckled, although he sounded neither amused nor satisfied. His eyes scanned a fixed point above her head. "That is true. But I doubt you would have made an effort to remember the exact verses of a 'riches to rags' story."

Penny shuffled the papers in front of her and snuck a glance at the men sitting across from her. Lucius Fox was smiling placidly. It was a polite signal of displeasure on his part. But he wasn't about to intervene. Bruce Wayne, whom she was finally meeting up close, looked distant and bored. She couldn't figure out if he was feigning disinterest or trying to stifle a yawn.

She turned her attention back to Lau, who was waiting patiently.

"I could say the same thing about you, Sir," she replied, smiling amiably. This was all banter, after all.

"Ah, yes. Why would a Chinese man be interested in your Western Bible? Is that it?"

Penny felt a flush creep into her cheeks, but she brushed it aside.

"I did not mean to imply –"

"No, no. Forgive me. I was only making fun. You Americans are so sensitive about this," he remarked, bringing the tips of his fingers together.

Penny reclined back in her seat, forcing the corners of her mouth to remain in the same upward position. She didn't trust Daggett. She didn't trust Lau either. But here they all were.

"Well, if we're all being frank about our denominations, I'm a Jewish mongrel myself," Lucius Fox spoke up, smoothing a wrinkle on his chin. "Original family name was Fuchs, with a "c" and an "h". Then, it turned into Fochs. And well…Fox is a more elegant alternative, isn't it?"

Mr. Lau nodded complacently. "Fascinating. But I still wish to know why you like the story of Job, Ms. Liss."

Penny looked up, trying to hide her surprise. _What does he want?_

He would probably not accept another standard answer, would he?

She set her pen down. "Because it's an indictment on God."

Mr. Lau smiled. "Come again?"

Penny stared at the gleaming mahogany top. She could see her own reflection inside it.

"Everyone thinks the story is about ethics. Doing the right thing, even when it's not in your interest. Obeying God even when it looks like he's turned his back on you. Showing true moral fiber."

Mr. Lau nodded his head. "You disagree?"

"I think it's the other way around. If we obey, so should _He_. If we hold up our end of the deal, so must _He_. The moral of the story is, God shouldn't play bets with the Devil. God should do the right thing. If He, the Supreme Being, doesn't, then how can we ever hope to?"

Her throat felt dry. She reached for the bottle of water. She shouldn't have said that much, but he'd insisted.

"Well, gentlemen. There you have it. The crux of our partnership," Mr. Lau spoke, inclining his head in Penny's direction. "Even God must obey."

 _That sounds like an ominous beginning to a joint venture,_ she mused, massaging her temples discreetly. She hadn't gotten the best of sleep last night. Her eyes darted towards Bruce Wayne. He was looking downwards. His eyes were shut. He was….he was…

_Sleeping._

In his own chair.

_Well, someone's had a worse night than me._

Penny pushed her hand aside and let the water bottle fall on the floor. She scraped her chair noisily and bent down to pick it up. "Excuse me! Sorry!"

When she resurfaced, Bruce Wayne looked like he'd been shaken up. He glanced at her and nodded his head sheepishly.

The meeting was quite uneventful afterwards, so she wouldn't have faulted him for falling asleep again. The lawyers were brought in to look over a sizable part of the contracts.

"We'll take this to the board of directors," Lucius explained, "but it's as good as done. They'll all agree to it. Eight percent annual growth is more than anyone could expect."

"I like your expediency. And I'm happy to be of service. This strikes me as a good start already," Lau commented, smiling fully for the first time.

Penny stood back to let them leave the room. Eight percent annual growth wasn't just more than anyone could expect. It was _suspicious_. If someone was doing that well overseas, why would they bother with a venture in the first place? Mr. Lau's base in Hong Kong was thriving more than ever. Why reach out to Gotham Enterprises?

She was mulling over these thoughts and she didn't even see Mr. Lau standing in front of her. He was holding the door open.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she mumbled, although she wasn't sure what she was apologizing for.

"Women tend to apologize too much. I tell the same thing to my wife," he replied, as she walked past him. He could read minds, it seemed.

"Don't hold it against us. It's only a reflex," she said, smoothing down her pantsuit.

"Hm. Yes. It must be. You did not look very apologetic when you shamed that murderous lunatic in the newspapers. Quite a dangerous man, from what I hear."

Penny's body reacted before her mind could process his words. Her spine was tingling from the sudden stiffness in her back.

"I say, well done," he added with an enigmatic smile. "Men like him are vermin."

Penny tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes, well, I hope you don't pay attention to the media too much. They tend to embellish –"

"Embellish? No, no. You are a silver-tongued woman," he said more quietly, so only she could hear. "I would not wish to get on your bad side."

Penny laughed forcefully, trying to cover her nerves, trying to change the tone of the conversation.

"You give me far too much credit."

"I give no credit. I only speak the truth. You like the sound of your own voice, Ms. Liss. Lucky for you, you speak well."

 _I could offer you the same back-handed insult, you arrogant prick,_ she thought angrily. But she was quickly hit by a startling realization. _It wasn't Lucius who wanted me to attend the meeting. It was him. Lau wanted to see the girl from the newspapers and TV._

"Ah, please don't be angry with me. I am only teasing," he quipped, bowing his head.

Penny schooled her features into playful repartee. "I will take the teasing as long as you do us good on the venture."

"Of course. Even God must obey, remember?"

Penny was already devising the speech in her head, the speech she would give Lucius about agreeing to shoddy investments run by shoddy men. And she was going to run a private profile on this guy, find out just who he was and what he wanted.

"I hope that Clown never catches on to you, Ms. Liss. It would be quite a pity. But I can see why."

She blinked. "Sorry? You can see why?"

Mr. Lau nodded his head, without offering a reply.

Penny was about to ask him again, when they were both interrupted by Bruce Wayne.

"I hope you aren't foregoing our lunch invitation, Mr. Lau."

To his credit, he didn't sound or look bored anymore. Bruce Wayne was a peculiar figure. Half the time, he seemed as if he was burdened by his parents' legacy. He chose to avoid having much to do with the company. But he could also strike a charming pose when needed. Penny didn't really know him well enough to judge where the truth lay.

"One of you promised Italian. I wouldn't want to pass up the chance."

"You should be glad no one proposed Chinese," Bruce joked, eyes crinkling with humor. Or…something else. Penny wasn't sure.

Mr. Lau gave a hearty chuckle and, without sparing Penny another glance, followed Wayne towards the elevators.

He didn't have to look back, though. He knew his words had left a mark.

 _But I can see why._ She knew the end of that sentence. _I can see why he is after you._

* * *

He cornered her as she was making her way down to her office.

"Mr. Wayne," she stated, her tone flat, although her eyes had widened considerably.

"Ms. Liss, I was wondering if you could accompany me to lunch."

"I…wouldn't want to inconvenience you, and besides, I think Mr. Lau has already –"

"Oh, no. Not _that_ lunch."

She looked lost for a moment. "You're not going to lunch with Mr. Lau?"

"No. I think Lucius and Daggett can butter him up just fine. I've done my part."

He could sense she was judging him, and he'd somehow earned her disapproval.

"He might take that as a slight, Mr. Wayne."

"Well, I can't be liked by everyone."

"No…but you're going to alienate him on purpose," she argued.

"Let me rephrase. I don't _want_ to be liked by everyone."

Now she was getting the idea. He could see her jaw lock for a fraction of a second, as if she was swallowing down her next words.

"Shall we?"

She drew back a little from his open invitation. "Could we possibly rain check? I'm swamped with the new acquisitions at Wayne Steel and we're running a few audits on the financial reports of Lau Security Investments Holdings, as per our agreement today –"

"They can wait, I'm sure. We never really got a chance to talk. And you've been with us for months now."

He knew his tone brooked no argument, and that usually worked on most people. Penny had been most people. She had been just another hard-working woman trying to land a spot on the corporate ladder. But then she'd been bathed in violence. And he, more than anyone, knew what that did to you, how it changed you.

"I'm grateful for this opportunity –"

"We'll dine on the roof. I don't think you've ever been up there."

"Pardon?"

"It's one of my favorite spots," he elaborated, noting the way her shoulders tensed. "No worries. It's perfectly safe. Bullet-proof glass."

"Glass?"

"Oh, yes. It's a secret roof garden. Part greenhouse, if I'm being honest. My mother always wanted one."

The mention of his mother seemed to settle matters. Bruce felt a little dirty using his dead parents like that, but a sympathy vote always went a long way.

They walked together to the elevators.

"I'm afraid it's a long climb," he apologized, holding the elevator door for her. He saw her momentary trepidation, the way her foot shook as she stepped forward. Maybe no one else would have noticed. She cleaned up very well. You couldn't tell what she was feeling. But this probably stirred bad memories for her. Very bad memories.

Was he being sadistic, testing her like this? Maybe. But Lucius was angry, and so was he. Their executive assistant had grown too bold. She was chewing off more than she could bite.

She stood closer to the wall than to him as the elevator made its smooth ascent.

What if he pushed the button? The emergency button? The elevator would draw to a screeching halt. They'd be stuck in there for a couple of minutes, at best. But he would like to see her reaction.

_Because the truth is, Ms. Liss, I don't trust you._

He couldn't. Not when he'd seen her that night, the night Davenport got shot. She had been brave. She'd reminded him of Rachel, in that way. But then, she hadn't. Because there was something unsettling about Penny Liss.

It wasn't really bravery, it was _ambition_.

She didn't merely want to escape the Clown. She wanted to _crush_ him and she was willing to do some highly questionable things for it. She'd spoken to the press in _his_ name, in the Bat's name. He'd woken up to tasteless headlines and false declarations. She'd done it all without considering the consequences. He couldn't abide that.

"You seem preoccupied, Ms. Liss."

"Sorry. My mind doesn't take a break from work sometimes."

He loosened his tie. "I can't say I empathize."

She kept looking at the control panel. "May I ask you something, Mr. Wayne?"

"Certainly."

"Why did you fall asleep during…?"

_I was bleeding out a few of The Chechen's men. It took all night._

He startled her with a pronounced laugh. "Oh, God. I forgot to thank you for that."

"No problem. I'm just concerned, I guess."

He measured her with an easy smile. _No, you're not. But nice of you to try._

"Insomnia and alcohol are a deadly combination, Ms. Liss. Heed my own example and stay away from both."

She seemed embarrassed by his admittance. "Well…it's none of my business, anyway."

"I don't mind you asking."

He reached forward without warning and pressed one of the buttons on the control panel.

"What are you doing?!" she screeched abruptly.

Bruce stared at her, nonplussed. "Sorry, I forgot to mention I left something on the sixth floor…"

She was breathing hard, holding one of her cheeks in her hand, as if her face was about to break open.

He felt a pinch of shame. He shouldn't have tried that. He wanted her to see that she was only human. But this wasn't the right way. He could have just come out and told her he disagreed with her act, he disagreed with her methods. Using the media had been a mistake. She was relatively safe now, but she had angered the bull. She didn't know it, but _he_ got a taste of it every night. The city was in chaos because of her, and she didn't even realize it.

He put a hand on her back. "Just breathe. You're all right."

She flinched, at first, but gradually, she accepted his touch. Well, "accept" was a generous term. She stood like a deer caught in the headlights, while he awkwardly rubbed circles on her spine.

She held a hand over her eyes. She was trying to compose herself.

"I'm fine," she said after a few moments, releasing her face. "Just a small scare."

"Small?"

"PTSD can be a real bitch, pardon my language."

"No pardon needed. I'm the one who's sorry. I should have been more careful. I didn't think."

She looked at him then, and her eyes were hard and narrow, and he knew she knew he had done that on purpose. He backed away from her.

"Yes, well. No harm done," she assured him.

"It's still my fault, I should have known you're still sensitive, especially after–"

"It's _fine_. I didn't make a big case about your nap, Mr. Wayne, so please don't make a big case about this," she replied with a quiver in her voice.

"Duly noted. I suppose lunch would be inappropriate now."

She raised her head defiantly. "Actually, I'm starving."

_There it is. That part of you I can't trust, Penny._

* * *

She could see everything and nothing. The world below must have been a dream, because up here, there was only sky. Pure blue sky. Life began and ended in that pure blue sky.

The potted plants surrounded them like sentries, and the undulating vines covered floor and ceiling, strapping them in a cocoon of green. But still, the pure blue sky found a way to make it all seem inconsequential.

"Do you like it?"

Penny nodded her head feebly. She was impressed. Not by him, not by his gesture. She was impressed with herself. She could still feel such innocuous things, after all. She could stare at this artificial garden and want to weep.

Their meal was served by anonymous personnel. She hadn't seen their faces before. Perhaps Bruce Wayne really _was_ careful with the people he hired.

He switched a peg on a small remote control and the glass around them turned a shade darker, blocking the more irritating rays of sunshine.

"Clever."

He smiled. "I like to think so."

They ate in silence for several long minutes. Penny would have liked to praise his excellent cook, but she was enjoying the food too much to talk.

_Maybe I can forgive him for the elevator._

She watched him flip open a newspaper one of the waiters had stashed on the serving table next to them. He looked so removed from the scenery, so impervious to whatever tragedy was being displayed on the front page.

_Maybe I can't._

"Have you seen this, Ms. Liss?" he asked and passed her the newspaper.

 _BAT VIGILANTES TAKE GOTHAM BY STORM_ , was the big headline.

She read the first few lines hastily _. …Several local citizens, calling themselves "The Batmen", or "Penny's Knights", in honor of Penelope Liss, Executive Assistant of Gotham Enterprises, have taken justice into their own hands, donning Batman suits and sporting weaponry ranging from Tasers to firearms…_

"Oh," was her delayed reaction.

_Penny's Knights._

"They're causing a bit of trouble around the city, hoping to get Batman's attention, or yours. Good men, I'm guessing. Some of them experienced, but I'd say half of them don't know what they're doing."

Penny gripped her wine glass. "I – I didn't, I didn't have anything to do with this, I swear."

Bruce Wayne sighed and looked away, clearly uncomfortable. "I know. But you shouldn't have gone to the press in the first place."

"This wasn't – you can't know this was a consequence of _that_."

"Maybe I can. I have enough money to find out. But I don't need money. It's obvious."

"No, it's not."

"Come on, Penny, you're smarter than this."

She rose from her seat without any warning. The napkin dropped to the floor.

"I'm not responsible for any of this. I'm just doing my job to the best of my abilities. If that isn't good enough for you, Mr. Wayne, you should have me fired."

Bruce threw the newspaper back on the shelf. "I would never fire someone as valuable as you. All we want, and I'm including Lucius in this too, is for you to trust us. You can't go behind our backs and try to do this your way. Because then you'd be acting as recklessly as these Bat-men."

Penny picked up the fallen napkin. "Thank you for lunch, Mr. Wayne."

"Penny. You can't put your faith in the public or the media. One hand giveth. The other taketh away."

She was disoriented for a moment, before she caught on. "You weren't asleep."

"Oh, no, I _was_. But I caught the end of your speech."

She stood rooted to the spot, unable to leave, unable to speak her mind. The silence was oppressive. She realized, grudgingly, that she shouldn't have taken Bruce Wayne for granted.

Finally, she found her voice. "Mr. Lau."

"What about him?"

"I think – I don't think he should be trusted. Not only because his financial records are suspicious, but also because…"

"Yes?" he leaned forward, paying attention.

_Because he said he can see why. Because he was the one who wanted me to sit there with you three. Because…because he knows Jack. He's talked to him. I'm sure of it._

She was about to unleash this litany of accusations on him when she realized just how _absurd_ they sounded in her head.

Good God, her paranoia had reached a ridiculous pitch. The whole world did not revolve around her and Jack. Lau was just another seedy business-man, like so many others. She shook her head, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead.

"He doesn't strike me as a safe man, in private or public," she finished, underwhelmingly.

Bruce Wayne nodded. "Chinese men who can quote Old Testament are usually the bad guys in movies."

A smile flickered on her lips. "Right." _And what about billionaire playboys who are a lot sharper than they look?_

"I should head back to work," she said finally.

He got up and followed her to the elevators.

"I hope there's no bad blood between us, Ms. Liss."

"No, of course not." _We don't know each other well enough for that._ "Goodbye, Mr. Wayne."

When the elevator doors shut closed, she leaned back against the wall and breathed out the stale air stuck in her lungs.

_Penny's Knights. What a joke. A deadly joke._

She'd given him his name. She'd started something. She couldn't take it back.

* * *

The wine was imported, French, high-quality.

Penny shook her head. "I hope you didn't spend this much money on me, Becky."

The girl beamed with pride. "It was nothing. The least I could do for all your support, Ms. Liss."

Penny waved off the gratitude. "You don't owe me anything."

"I know but – I think we started off on the wrong foot."

Becky's enthusiasm - feigned or not - was hard to resist, or completely shut down. The girl was just a pawn in someone's game, but she was innocent where it mattered. That's what Penny had discovered that night in the bathroom, when she'd wiped away her snot.

She might have been one of Jack's, but then again, she could be one of _hers_. With some helpful guidance.

"I'm sorry for that. Are we on the right foot now?"

Becky nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes."

"Well, then. Let's celebrate with a toast," she acquiesced, handing her the bottle of wine.

Becky hesitated for a moment. "N-no, I mean, it's for you, Ms. Liss. It's too expensive to share with assistants."

Penny dimmed her computer lamp and got out of her chair. She really needed to lie down and rest those weary bones. She was looking forward to a good night's sleep.

"Nonsense. I'm not the kind of person who drinks alone. Well, I am, but let's keep that between you and me."

"No really, I couldn't, it's not professional –"

Penny smiled. "You act like the wine's poisoned, Becky."

" _What_? No! That's just -!"

"Relax. I'm only teasing. Come on, I'll open it up."

She took out two glasses from her cabinet and poured copiously. Bruce Wayne had warned her about alcohol. She was happy to disregard his advice.

Becky accepted the glass with flushed cheeks. "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_."

Penny knew, deep down, there was nothing wrong with the wine. Jack would _never_ let her die like this. He'd be watching, or more likely, doing the deed.

"So, tell me about you. Where you grew up, what you dreamed of doing when you got into the city," Penny prompted her with a smile.

Aided by wine, Becky opened up a bit and talked about her childhood. It was all typical and Midwestern. There seemed to be some trouble with her brother. He was traveling across the country a lot and she didn't know where he was at the moment.

"Oh…do you want my help finding him? Don't be embarrassed to ask," Penny offered kindly.

"God, no, Ms. Liss, I could never trouble you, and besides, he's always fine, he just likes to worry me, that's all."

Penny pondered on that. Did Jack have her brother, then? Was that how he'd gotten to Becky? Was this Becky's way of telling her?

She tried to push away these thoughts and enjoy the conversation. Soon, they were gossiping about fellow colleagues from various departments.

"Oh, gosh, Ms. Liss, if anyone heard me talking!"

"They'd give you a medal for honesty."

They continued in this fashion, laughing occasionally, whispering at other times. It was intimate and female, but it was also artificial. The alcohol helped a great deal. It was close to midnight by now and they were both light-headed.

"I should go home…big day tomorrow…gotta feed my neighbor's cat too. She made me promise I would," Becky muttered incoherently.

Penny shook her head. "You're not going anywhere in this state. You can lie down here on my couch. No one will know."

Becky protested weakly for a while, until her head hit one of the cushions and then she couldn't raise it anymore. She giggled sadly and stifled a burp. "I'm so sorry."

Penny bent down to pull a few strands of hair out of her face. Becky looked up with bleary eyes.

"I…I'm scared sometimes, you know."

"Don't be," Penny shushed, drawing a coverlet over her tiny body. "He can't get you here. I promise."

Becky moved her lips. Her eyes seemed to gain a smidgen of lucidity. "I, I don't want –"

"I know. I know you don't. Now rest."

She kissed the girl on the cheek and Becky dutifully closed her eyes.

Penny closed the office door behind her. She stepped out of her stilettos with a sigh of relief, grabbed them by their straps, and padded down the silent corridor.

All things considered, living in the Penthouse was a big advantage. Wayne Towers was her home, which meant she didn't have to go a long way to get her inebriated body in a bed.

"The girl is gonna be mine, Jack," she spoke to the empty shadows around her. "Maybe you've got her brother. Maybe you've got her life in your hands, too. But she's still gonna be mine and you know it."

* * *

Jack watched his clowns beat up the poor fool. Dressed up like a Batman, calling himself Penny's _Knight_. Wasn't that a riot.

He was an ex-cop, or something the like, because he wasn't going down easy.

He wasn't the brains of the operation or anything, not by far.

But that was not a problem. Jack didn't necessarily need to kill him. He just wanted the guy in a coma, somewhere in a hospital, somewhere where people would talk about him. They wouldn't call him a hero. They'd say he was a victim. Whose victim?

Well, yes, the victim of " _thugs_ " and " _bullies_ ". But deep down, wasn't he Moneypenny's victim? Hadn't she inadvertently started their movement? Hadn't she encouraged them, in her attempt to score another shot at self-advertisement? No one could prove it, no one could _disprove_ it.

Ah, the beauty of mass media. Penny's weapon of choice was a real whore.

Jack laughed to himself as he walked out on the dock. Behind him, the faux Knight was kneeling in his own blood and spit.

The water gleamed dark and amber. There was no moon. The yellow was just the acid and the grease and the grub of this city. The Batman's colors. Poor guy was running himself thin, between the Gambol and the Chechen and Penny's Knights. That left a lot of room for Jack to play.

He checked his phone. Lau had called several times now, but that ego-tripping maniac could wait for a change. He saw a new text from him.

_I met Ms. Liss today. I understand now._

Jack clicked his teeth and launched a stone into the water. _Understand what, straw-eyes?_ he texted back.

 _If you do as you promised me, your reward might include her too,_ was his prompt reply.

Jack ran his tongue over the jagged ends of his scars. He hadn't done that in a while.

_Chinese cunt._

He was the one offering rewards, when it had been Jack who'd pulled him out of mediocrity.

_Your reward might include her too._

He turned back to his clowns and told them to throw the Knight in the water.

_She's not a reward, you impotent dick. You don't have to give her to me. No one does. She's already mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone caught the Biblical reference. Characters like Lau and the Bat-men are canonical to the Nolan universe, with some tweaking here and there. Thank you so much for all your kind words, I'm as usual, humbled and grateful :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm incorrigible when it comes to updating this story, but at least I'm here! Sorry for making you wait and I hope you're still interested. 
> 
> Continuity stuff in this chapter: Penny's Knights, which were introduced in chapter 14 - they are basically the regular citizens dressed as Batmen that we see in the movie. The scene between Brian Douglas and the Joker in this chapter actually happened in canon, but I obviously modified it to suit the story. Becky has probably become a familiar face by now. Mr. Lau is a canonical character and was introduced in chapter 15. Dr. Rimsy first appeared in chapter 10 as Penny's therapist, if you recall. The Applied Sciences division was mentioned in previous chapters, and Penny demanded that Lucius tell her what exactly he is hiding there. Well, the chickens are coming home to roost.
> 
> I guess it would be useful to reread last chapter just to make sure you're following everything? Apologies for any small typos and mistakes, I'm a tired writer.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the journey and thank you for your support.

"I'm glad to see you, Penelope. You haven't come in for a session in a while. I was getting worried."

Dr. Joan Rimsy smiled in a way that could only be catalogued as sympathetic, but behind it, Penny detected a sliver of apprehension. It was the doctor's fear that this was beyond her level of expertise. The same way a priest feels when he hears the confession of a criminal and doesn't know what to do about it. Penny had confessed to no crime. But a crime had been committed in her name.

"You've seen the news, I assume?" she asked – unnecessarily – because  _everyone_  had seen it.

Joan hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. But I'm interested in hearing  _your_  side of the story, if you are able share it. I'm sure it took a terrible toll on you."

Penny looked away briefly. She liked to focus on the various knickknacks that Joan displayed on her desk. Chinese paperweights, ceramic kittens, bead necklaces. "Actually, I came here today to get my pill refill. Because, as you say, there is a certain toll on my psyche right now."

Joan clasped her hands in her lap. "You know I can't hand out subscriptions unless you talk to me, Penny."

"What's there to talk about? You saw it on TV."

"What I saw is not what interests me. Your feelings on the matter, however, interest me very much."

"My feelings," Penny drawled, sinking down into the sofa. "I have no feelings about it. I'm weirdly numb."

It was not entirely true. She was forcing herself to stay numb; otherwise the guilt would overwhelm her, and this was  _not_  the time for meltdowns.

"Let's talk about numbness then," Joan prompted eagerly. "Was that your initial feeling upon seeing the footage?"

Penny blinked. Her initial feeling…Is there ever an initial  _anything_? A moment of clarity when the chemicals in your brain are all aligned and you know exactly how it begins?

Her initial feeling was about how  _other_  people would feel. She knew it would haunt Gotham's nightmares for the coming weeks and it would make its citizens think twice about vigilantism and taking the law into their own hands.

The image was only later censored, so every household got to see the raw footage on their flat screens. The man in the Batman suit, hanging from a flagpole in the middle of traffic. His mouth had been painted over to resemble a clown's smile.

Really, Jack didn't need to go the extra mile. It would have been enough to show this gruesome aftermath of violence.

But the Joker wanted the world to see the  _process_.

The video was broadcast on the news for the same wide audience. It showed the man in the Batman suit, still alive, strapped to a chair in a nondescript location. His face was stripped of the mask, and it was small and pudgy and frightened.

Jack was wielding the camera in a grotesque fashion, making it shake and swerve chaotically. He was breathing noisily in the background, chuckling - clearly enjoying himself.

"Tell them your name," he instructed, doing a close up of him until you could see the snot under his nose.

"B-Brian Douglas."

"Well…hello, Brian. Are you the  _real_  Batman?"

"No," the man replied dejectedly.

"What do you call yourself then?"

"N-nothing."

Jack didn't like this sort of cowardly lying. The footage was not very clear, but the experts who analyzed the video later claimed that the Joker had taken a hammer to Brian's knees and that's why the man started keening and weeping in his chair.

"Again, Brian," Jack purred, zooming in on his miserable face.

"I'm … _we're_  all Penny's Knights," he confessed between dry sobs. It had been the name they had decided upon, or rather, the signature Anton had given them in their group meetings. It hadn't seemed like a pipe dream then. It had seemed possible to make a change.

"Penny who, Brian?" Jack egged him on.

"Penelope…Liss…."

"Hmmm, do I know her?"

"She's the woman who faced off…scum like you!" It had been Brian's last-ditch effort to defy his attacker and go out with his dignity intact.

But it only earned him more derision.

"Oooh," the Joker cackled in pure delight, "she  _inspired_  you, is that it? You wanted to make her  _proud_."

Brian's voice faltered slightly. "She…doesn't have to fear people like you."

"No, no she doesn't," Jack cooed, the image shaking spasmodically with his laughter. "But  _you_ , Brian. Oooh, you do. You really, really  _do_."

His last words had a cold, rough edge to them like a switchblade tearing into skin.

The footage was cut off at this point just as Brian started to scream.

The newscaster read from the prompter in a grim face. "The man known as the Joker left an additional message at the crime scene. It was found on Brian Douglas' recovered corpse."

They didn't specify that it was carved into his stomach.

A small title card appeared on screen with the words: " _Give me Penny or else_."

As demands go, this one was pretty straight-forward. There was no mystery, no cipher.

The sentence was like a strange tango, stomping on her synapses. The words were like dancers who pulled back elegantly and then swiftly ground their heel into her frontal lobe, paralyzing her reactions. That's why she was numb.

But she had already made a decision in her mind. Everyone had.

The public didn't want to admit it, but between her and the fathers of young children, the hardworking husbands of this city, the choice was damn easy. She was only a young, ambitious woman. She did not have a family. She did not plan on making one. She was not married. A lot less was at stake for her. She could be removed and another bright young woman would replace her without much fanfare. Even though the public had briefly glorified her, she was now ready to be sacrificed.

Dr. Rimsy cocked her head to the side. "Penelope, did you hear me?"

Penny stared at the chipped nail polish on Joan's fingers. That was not very professional of her. She should take better care of herself. How could she dispense advice to others when she was not put together?

Penny wrung her own fingers together. "I heard you."

"Would you like to tell me…about your first reaction, upon seeing that footage?"

She reached into the bottom of the well, that stone brick well she kept inside of her, in which old waters waited to be pulled up in buckets.

She pulled up a bucket-full. She smiled like a grimace. "I just want to kill him."

There was a strange pause afterwards. A silence that did not sound like silence.

"Excuse me?" Joan asked.

"I just want to take a knife to his throat," Penny said, staring at the ceramic kittens on the doctor's desk. Their heads bobbed up and down happily. "But I know that's not what you want to hear. I know it's not good, or right, or positive or healthy."

Joan had an involuntary impulse to bring her fingers to her mouth, but she stopped in time.  _Oh, so that's why the nail polish is chipped_ , Penny thought.  _She bites her nails._

"I don't want to censor you, Penny. There's nothing we can't talk about here. It's natural to feel angry and to want to hurt back –"

Penny shook her head. "I'm not angry. I don't want to hurt him back. That would be - that would be a relief. It would make me feel normal."

"You don't feel normal?"

"No, I'm not very normal right now."

"Why do you say that?"

Penny inhaled sharply.  _Because killing him is not about retribution or justice. I'm not Batman. I'm not Brian Douglas. For me, it's about pleasure. I want to kill him and I want to enjoy it. I really, really_ _do_ _._ "You shouldn't bite your nails."

"Pardon?" Joan asked, lowering her glasses.

"You should not stick your fingers in your mouth. It's unbecoming of you, Doctor. Now, unless I am getting a refill, I'll be on my way."

* * *

She was growing harder by the minute. The youth was seeping out of her skin. When she looked in the mirror, she saw tusks growing from the side of her face. She looked like a starved hyena, like a beast who wanted to tear into flesh.

Penny heard the sirens wailing downtown. Gotham was like a pot on a sizzling fire. She could smell the burning meat from up here. The Wayne Tower penthouse was her familiar gilded cage, but she was no canary. Lucius had forbidden her to leave the premises. Plainclothes policemen had been posted inside and outside the building, surrounding the perimeter. Bruce Wayne had called to tell her that he was handling the situation.

At seven o'clock that evening, a second Batman corpse was found, floating by the docks, face down. Swimming with the fishes, as they say.

There was the same message carved into his bloated green stomach.  _Give me Penny or else._

Penny drew a hot bath. She wanted to smell good and she wanted to rinse her skin until it was red. She didn't want her skin to look green. She lay in the tub for an hour, contemplating how it would all go down. She did not have a very sound plan, if all things were considered, but she was more than ready to get her hands dirty.

She got out of the tub and dried herself up, after which she put on a black bra and panties. Cotton, for comfort. Black sweatpants and a dark blue sweater which still had inklings of perfume.

She did her makeup carefully. Light and tasteful and just a touch bold. Her lips were bright red. She lingered on them until they looked perfect.

Lucius would have told her she was doing herself up for nothing. There was no chance of her getting out of this building.

But they simply didn't know about her loyal assistant, Becky. They didn't know her like she did.

* * *

" _Your brother – he's got your brother, doesn't he?"_

_Becky put her face in her hands and dry-heaved._

_Penny gently pried her hands away and held them in her lap. "You can save him."_

" _Please, Ms. Liss, I can't even save myself –"_

" _I know you feel helpless right now, but you have more power than you think. We both do. The fact that we are still here is proof of that. We haven't let these men crush us like bugs," she said, squeezing the girl's hands._

_She saw in Becky's shining eyes the self-loathing and despair that had always been there. And she saw the burning desire to be loved and accepted and forgiven._

_"We are not bugs..." Becky repeated, mesmerized by the words._

_"You can get me to him, Becky. To Jack. And I can make him release your brother."_

_Becky turned a sickly white, like curdled milk. "I can't, I can't. They already suspect I'm talking to you behind their backs, that I'm not being loyal –"_

" _But you saw it yourself. Jack wants you to bring me. You saw the carvings."_

_Becky shook her head, tears in her eyes. "No, Ms. Liss. It's a game for him. And he doesn't win if I just bring you there. He wants you to be delivered by Gotham."_

" _And who says you're not Gotham?"_

" _I'm no one."_

_Pennny grabbed her by shoulders. "Look at me. You are everything, Becky."_

" _Everything?"_

" _Everything he's not expecting," Penny replied with a beatific smile._

* * *

She had told Becky who to contact, what to do. Now, it was only a matter of minutes and seconds. Penny sat down on the sofa with a glass of chilled wine, dressed and ready. She didn't actually drink the Claret. She needed perfect clarity. But she liked holding the glass, she liked pretending.

The door clicked softly and her shy little assistant entered the penthouse, dressed in black sweatpants and a dark blue sweater, almost identical to what her boss was wearing. She was also holding a regular backpack, something that would not look remiss in a school.

Penny went to her and pulled her into an embrace. "You're being very brave."

" _Me_? What about you?" Becky said softly, almost in a whisper. Her eyes were blue with electricity. She looked like a young girl who was about to go on a roller coaster. A part of her couldn't wait to do what she was going to do.

Penny smiled. "Tell me, did you have any trouble?"

"No…not as much as I'd expected."

"I told you, you have more power than you think. People don't look at you carefully, which means you can get away with many things."

Becky smiled an impish smile. "That's true." Her face turned sober for a moment. "Is it safe down there?"

"As safe as it can be up here," Penny remarked, zipping up her jacket.

They took the stairs down to the third floor cafeteria. They both said hello to the policemen stationed there and asked them to join them for dinner. They politely declined. It was not part of their duties.

They walked fast to the kitchen area in the back, the storage room and – the elevator.

Penny slipped a Vicodin between her lips and tilted her head back. This sealed box – it was going to get her out of here, it was nothing to fear.

She had taken Lucius' keycard and Becky had made copies, as asked.

The elevator doors opened and they both slipped inside. Penny held her breath. They went down, much lower than three levels. They were going to the basement, which was the location of the Applied Sciences division. The highly classified division which had given her such a headache in the media. The division which Lucius kept from her, because he thought his secrets were important and devastating.

Well, tonight she did not care about his secrets. The basement would offer her an illicit way out of Wayne Tower. That's all that mattered. There was someone screaming in her head, but imagined sealing that mouth shut.

She opened her eyes and the elevator door parted. At first it was dark, darker than any space in the city. It felt wide and drafty as she stepped further into the abyss.

Then, the motion sensors kicked in.

They were in a giant hall, the size of a stadium. It gave one the sense of a luxury car exhibit, because there were various vehicles lifted on podiums, placed on display. They were not your average Toyotas and Mercedes. They were not a brand she knew. But she had been in one of them, the night of the Gala. She had ridden in it with the Batman.

She stood, mouth agape, before the body armor which had become Gotham's symbol of heroism. It was awfully magnificent, seen at this scale. Further on, there were more weapons and ammunition.

Becky shivered next to her. "Oh my God…"

Penny braced herself. "So this is what we've been hiding down here. The Batman's secret stash."

Becky laughed nervously. "This can't be real…I mean, this is – this is  _insane_. We're supplying him with weapons?"

"I've heard of more insane things."

Penny turned around, taking it all in. The shock was dampened by a strange feeling of pride. She could bet anything that no woman had ever stepped down here. And now there were  _two_.

She sized up the impressive arsenal. "Becky? Open up your backpack."

* * *

They went in opposite directions, to confuse the policemen. They would see two Penelopes, two gazelles running in the jungle.

Becky promised she'd circle the perimeter and then she would not be far behind Penny.

Mr. Lau's car was waiting for her under the tracks.

Penny opened the door forcefully and got inside. The Chinese man had a ready-made smile for her.

"Ms. Liss. It's a lovely evening for a drive."

She leaned back into her seat. "Then take me to him."

His expression did not change, but his eyes flickered a shade darker. "…you haven't changed your mind. Good, I would hate to disappoint Mr. J. He can be quite useful, I've found."

Penny wrinkled her nose. Jack wouldn't have many uses when she was done with him.

"But where is your little assistant? The lovely girl who contacted me?" he asked eagerly, hungry for more young meat.

Penny smiled a coy smile. She leaned forward, tucking his tie into his suit. "Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return hither."

Mr. Lau lowered his eyes. "Oh, I certainly regret we only have this time together."

He instructed his chauffer to drive.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last reply Penny gives Mr. Lau had a certain significance in chapter 15. Anyway, there's a confrontation coming...and I think you'll get it pretty soon. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on ffnet, so I thought I should add it here as well. If you want to look up the story on ffnet, it's under the same title, but my author name is adelheid23. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!


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